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UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
AT LOS ANGELES

LIFE AND LETTERS

GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D.

FORMERLY BISHOP OF CLOYNE.

VOL. IV.

Eoittion
MACMILLAN AND CO.

PUBLISHERS TO THE UNIVERSITF OF

THE WORKS

GEORGE BERKELEY, D. D,

FORMERLY BISHOP OF CLOYNE;

INCLUDING
MANY OF HIS WRITINGS HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED.

With Prefaces, Annotations,
His Life and Letters, and an Account of his Philosophy,

ALEXANDER CAMPBELL ERASER, M. A.

PROFESSOR OF LOGIC AND METAPHYSICS IN THE
UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH.

IN FOUR VOLUMES.

Vol. IV.

AT THE CLARENDON PRESS

M.DCCC.LXXI
\^All rights reserved']

5921

<"h '

LIFE AND LETTERS

OF ^

GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D.

FORMERLY BISHOP OF CLOYNE ;

AND AN ACCOUNT OF HIS PHILOSOPHY.

WITH MANY

WRITINGS OF BISHOP BERKELEY HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED :

METAPHYSICAL, DESCRIPTIVE, THEOLOGICAL.

ALEXANDER CAMPBELL ERASER, M.A.

PROFESSOR OF LOGIC AND METAPHYSICS IN THE
UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH.

AT THE CLARENDON PRESS

. ^ M.DCCC.LXXI

PREFACE.

IT is curious that a life so good and beautiful in its
devotion to a few great designs, so powerful in modern
thought, and every way so uncommon, as Bishop
Berkeley's should have been allowed by his contem-
poraries to pass away without any tolerable interpreta-
tion or even record of it. The present volume does
not pretend to meet the want which the lapse of more
than a hundred years, and neglected opportunities have
made it difficult if not impossible to supply.

The earliest biographical account of Berkeley known
to me is the slight and inaccurate sketch which appeared
in the British Plutarch in 1762, and in the Animal
Register in the following year. I have not discovered
by whom it was written.

The only authentic Life we have is that by Bishop
Stock, who was an intimate friend of the family\ It
appeared in 1776, twenty-three years after Berkeley's
death. It was re-published, with some additional notes,
in 1780, in the second volume of the Biographia
Britannica. A second edition of Stock's memoir, with
appended extracts of some letters from Berkeley to
Thomas Prior and to Dean Gervais, appeared in 1 784,

^ Joseph Stock, D.D., was born thence to the see of Waterford in

in Dublin, in December 174 1. He 1810. In 1798 the French landed

became a Fellow of Trinity College at Killala and took possession of the

about 1765, and was made rector of bishop's palace and person — events

Conwall in 1779, vicar of Lusk in of which he afterwards published

1780, andrectorofDelganyin 1788. a narrative. Bishop Stock died at

He was a prebendary of Lismore in Waterford in 1813. Some of his

1793. In 1798 he was made bishop writings are mentioned in Cotton's

of Killala, and was transferred from Fasti^ vol. I. p. 134.

viii PREFACE.

and was also prefixed to the first collected edition of
Berkeley's Works, published in that year. In that
edition the reader is informed that Stock's biographical
facts were for the most part communicated by Dr. Robert
Berkeley, rector of Midleton, near Cloyne, brother to the
Bishop, and then living. This brief memoir of a few
pages is prefixed to all the collected editions of Ber-
keley. One regrets that when Dr. Stock had so good an
opportunity for collecting and authenticating materials he
should have produced so faint an outline of Berkeley's
history.

A few facts in supplement of Stock, authenticated by the
Bishop's widow and by his son George, are contained in
'Addenda and Corrigenda' in the third volume of the Bio-
graphia BiHtannica, which appeared in i 784; and we have
a few anecdotes, in the curious Preface, by Bishop Berke-
ley's daughter-in-law, to the Poems of his grandson George
Monck Berkeley, published in 1797^ Mr. Monck Berkeley
himself, in his interesting volume of Literary Relics'^, pub-

^ Poems by the late George Mo7ick was suppressed, and a fire at Mr.
Berkeley, Esq., LLB.,F.S.SA. With Nichols' warehouse, I believe, after-
a Pre/ace by the Editor, consisting wards destroyed the copies. For
0/ some Afiecdotes of Mr. Monck an account of this singular work,
Berkeley, and several of his friends. and of the writer, see Gent. Mag.
London, printed by J. Nichols, vols. LXVII. pp. 403, 455, and
1797. The editor was JNIonck LXIX. p. 565 ; also Nichols' Zz'/d-/--
Berkeley's mother, ]\Irs. Eliza rt'r;' ^7/^<:7/f/^.f, vol. IX. pp. 733 — 35.
Berkeley, widow of Bishop Berke- ^ Literary Relics, by George
ley's last surviving son. Dr. George Monck Berkeley, Esq., LL.B. in
Berkeley, Prebendary of Canter- the University of Dublin, a mem-
bury. She was accomplished and ber of St. INIary Magdalen Hall,
pious, not without acuteness and Oxford, and of the Inner Temple,
wit, but eccentric to the verge London. The preface is dated,
of insanity. Her extraordinary .' Dublin, January 27, 1789.' Re-
Preface occupies 630 pages of the ferring to the numerous letters from
handsome quarto, and there are Berkeley to Prior which the book
besides some pages of Postscript. contains, the writer says :— ' Those
The Poems themselves occupy 170 of Bishop Berkeley I received from
pages. The book is very rare, my friend Mr. Archdall, the learned
It is hardly to be found in any of author of the Motiasticon Hibcr-
our public libraries. In fact it nicum, c£v. From these letters, some

PREFACE. ik

lished in i 789, has given fully many of Berkeley's letters
to Thomas Prior, extracts from some of which were
appended, as already mentioned, to the later editions of
Stock's memoir.

The memoirs of Berkeley in Chalmers and elsewhere,
as well as the biographical accounts of him in the dif-
ferent histories of Philosophy, Continental and British,
are founded on Stock, and very much copied from him.
Professor Archer Butler produced, in the Dublin Uni-
versity Magazine, in 1837, an eloquent philosophical in-
terpretation of Berkeley's life and writings, but made
almost no addition to the previous knowledge of the
facts of his personal history. Two years ago, an excellent
appreciative essay on Berkeley, as ' the philosopher' of
the age he lived in, was given by Mrs. Oliphant, in
her Historical Sketches of the Reign of George II.

When I undertook to prepare the edition of the
Works of Berkeley which accompanies this volume,
and which is published under the auspices of the Uni-
versity of Oxford, it seemed almost too late to attempt to
remedy the loss the world has suffered by biographical
neglect when the materials were fresh, and before death
had taken away his friends and associates. It was, ac-
cordingly, at first thought that any account of the
author that mifjht be associated with the Works
must be very much a re-statement of what Stock had
written — perhaps his short memoir with a few anno-
tations. Further consideration and investigation, how-
ever, led to the formation of this volume, which is the
imperfect result of an attempt, thus far followed out, to

extracts, together with a most im- in quarto." (p. x.) Mr. Monck
perfect Life of the writer, were pub- Berkeley died soon after the pub-
lished by Dr. Stock in Dublin, and lication of the Li/erarv Relics.
prefixed to the Works of the Bishop

X PREFACE.

recover all that immediately concerns Berkeley which the
stream of time has not carried irrecoverably away.

The Works and Letters of Berkeley previously
published, together with Stock's meagre outline of facts,
formed my starting-point.

The Letters, as it seemed, might be read with more
interest if they were collected, arranged in chronological
order, and blended with the Life, with an annotation now
and then. The largest, and probably the most interest-
ing, portion of Berkeley's correspondence has I fear
gone beyond recovery. 1:1 is letters to Thomas Prior
form the bulk of what remains. For them I have fol-
lowed Monck Berkeley's edition, in his Literary Relics,
amending the arrangement, however, and supplementing
what is given there by a few additional letters to Prior
drawn from other sources. For the letters to Dean
Gervais I have had no resource beyond the appendix
to Stock. The previously published letters to Pope
I have collected in their order, but have failed to find
any not hitherto published, or to discover anywhere any
addressed to Swift, Steele, Addison, Clarke, Butler, or
others among the brilliant society in which Berkeley
moved in the early part of his life. Of his long cor-
respondence with Samuel Johnson, his American disciple,
I have recovered several letters — four published in the
Appendix to Chandler's Life of Johnson, and for the
rest I am indebted to Mr. Oilman, the eminent
librarian of Yale College. A few additional letters, and
rough drafts of letters to various persons have been
gathered in other quarters. It is possible that more
may still be found.

By far the most important original material connected
with Berkeley, not hitherto given to the world, which has
been disclosed since his death, has been made available

PREFACE.

for this volume, through the kindness of Archdeacon
Rose, who possesses the only known collection of Ber-
keley's manuscripts, including some of his correspon-
dence.

The history of these Papers is interesting. After Bishop
Berkeley's death they passed into the hands of his son,
Dr. George Berkeley, who died in 1795. In 1797, Dr.
Berkeley's widow writes thus, in her edition of her son's
Poems : — 'The Editor has several stone weight of papers
to inspect of Bishop Berkeley's — his Journal when in Italy,
&c. &c. ; of Mr. Cherry's ; of Archbishop Seeker's ; Miss
Talbot's ; Mr. Monck Berkeley's V After the death of
this daughter-in-law, and the family dissolution, these
Berkeley Papers were lost sight of for a while. They
were thus referred to in 181 2 by Southey^: — 'Bishop
Berkeley. A journal of his travels in Italy, and many
other of his papers, remain unpublished. His grand-
son, George Monck Berkeley, had he lived, would
have given them to the public. I know not what is
become of them since the family has been extinct, but
of such a man not a relick should be lost.'

The family of Bishop Berkeley was extinct in the
early part of this century. The Berkeley Papers
referred to by Mrs. Berkeley and by Southey then
came into the possession of the Grimston family. One
member of that ancient and honourable family, Henry
Grimston, Esq., of Grimston Hall in Yorkshire, often
mentioned in the volume of Monck Berkeley's Poems, is
there spoken of as Monck's ' chosen, beloved, and*bosom
friend,' ' his unwearied friend to his latest hour.' Through
the Grimston family they became the property of the late
Reverend Hugh James Rose, the learned and eminent
Principal of King's College, London. After his death,

^ Preface to Monck Berkeley, ^ See Southey's Omniana, vol, I.

p. dcxxviii. p. 251.

xii PRE F A C E.

in 1838, they belonged to his widow", who eventually
gave them to his brother, the Venerable Henry John
Rose, now Archdeacon of Bedford, who has, without
reserve, placed them at the disposal of the Clarendon
Press for publication in this volume. Those of them
which seemed suitable for publication occupy here more
than two hundred and fifty pages.

The Berkeley Papers consist of the following manu-
scripts : —

I. Two small quarto volumes.

One of these volumes seems to have formed a Common-
place Book for queries and other occasional thoughts in
Metaphysics, written when Berkeley was a student at
Trinity College, Dublin, apparently between his nine-
teenth and twenty-third year, and before he had published
anything in philosophy. This curious manuscript volume
contains also a description of the Cave of Dunmore, in
the County of Kilkenny, in Berkeley's handwciting. I
have appended the Commonplace Book to the Life and
Letters, and also the account of the Dunmore Cave.
The reader must remember that the former consists of
the stray speculations of one hardly beyond the years
of boyhood, set down, in solitary study, as private
memoranda for further consideration, and without a
thought that they were ever to meet the public eye.

The companion quarto is of much less interest. It
contains what seems, to be a rough draft of parts of
the DiscoiLvse on Passive Obedience; fragments of what
was perhaps meant for a sermon on the text ' Let your
zeal be according to knowledge ;' a draft of the Prin-
ciples of Hnman Knowledge, from Sect. 85 to Sect. 145,

" The Berkeley Papers, when in Ihe Colonial Church, which contains

her possession, were seen by the an interesting chapter (xxviii) on

Rev. J. S. M. Anderson, and they Berkeley's efforts on behalf of the

are referred to in his History of Colonies.

PREFACE. xiii

nearly as in print ; a few stray thoughts similar to those
in the Commonplace Book ; some jottings of what may be
fragments of letters, in Latin and English, written ap-
parently at Trinity College. Very little here seemed
suited for publication.

2. Four small volumes. These seem to have been
Berkeley's travelling companions in Italy. They contain
a minute account of what he saw there from day to day,
in some of the months of 171 7, and during a short period
in I 718. They are perhaps fragments of private journals
kept during his stay on the Continent in 171 5 — 20, some
of which, it is said, were lost at sea. Nearly all that the
four volumes contain is now offered to the world.

3. Some Sermons preached by Berkeley in the Chapel
of Trinity College, Dublin, and in Leghorn ; Skeletons of
Sermons preached in Rhode Island ; the primary Epi-
scopal Charge at Cloyne ; and a Confirmation Address,
form another portion of the Berkeley Papers. All of
these which seemed in a state to admit of being published
are given in this volume.

4. The Berkeley Papers likewise include a number of
letters addressed to Bishop Berkeley, chiefly by Arch-
bishop Seeker, when he was Bishop of Bristol, and after-
wards of Oxford ; by Benson, Bishop of Gloucester ; and
by Gibson, Bishop of London. We have also a long
letter from Berkeley to Sir John James, on points in
theology, one or two letters of his to Thomas Prior,
as well as some rougfh drafts of letters to other corre-
spondents, and of portions of one or two of his published
works. All of these which seemed proper for publica-
tion have been incorporated with his Life and Letters,
in chronological order.

Almost all in the Berkeley Papers that is immediately
connected with Bishop Berkeley is summed up under
the foregoing heads. The remaining portion of the

xii PREFACE.

ill 1838, they belonged to his widow", who eventually
gave them to his brother, the Venerable Henry John
Rose, now Archdeacon of Bedford, who has, without
reserve, placed them at the disposal of the Clarendon
Press for publication in this volume. Those of them
which seemed suitable for publication occupy here more
than two hundred and fifty pages.

The Berkeley Papers consist of the following manu-
scripts : —

I. Two small quarto volumes.

One of these volumes seems to have formed a Common-
place Book for queries and other occasional thoughts in
Metaphysics, written when Berkeley was a student at
Trinity College, Dublin, apparently between his nine-
teenth and twenty-third year, and before he had published
anything in philosophy. This curious manuscript volume
contains also a description of the Cave of Dunmore, in
the County of Kilkenny, in Berkeley's handwfiiting. I
have appended the Coinmonplace Book to the Life and
Letters, and also the account of the Dunmore Cave.
The reader must remember that the former consists of
the stray speculations of one hardly beyond the years
of boyhood, set down, in solitary study, as private
memoranda for further consideration, and without a
thought that they were ever to meet the public eye.

The companion quarto is of much less interest. It
contains what seems, to be a rough draft of parts of
the Discotcrse on Passive Obedience; fragments of what
was perhaps meant for a sermon on the text ' Let your
zeal be according to knowledge ;' a draft of the Prin-
ciples of Human Knowledge, from Sect. 85 to Sect. 145,

® The Berkeley Papers, when in the Colonial Church, which contains

her possession, were seen by the an interesting chapter (xxviii) on

Rev. J. S. M. Anderson, and they Berkeley's efforts on behalf of the

are referred to in his History of Colonies.

PREFACE. xiii

2. Four small volumes. These seem to have been
Berkeley's travelling companions in Italy. They contain
a minute account of what he saw there from clay to da)',
in some of the months of i 7 1 7, and during a short period
in 1 718. They are perhaps fragments of private journals
kept during his stay on the Continent in 171 5 — 20, some
of which, it is said, were lost at sea. Nearly all that the
four volumes contain is now offered to the world.

4. The Berkeley Papers likewise include a number of
letters addressed to Bishop Berkeley, chiefly by Arch-
bishop Seeker, when he was Bishop of Bristol, and after-
wards of Oxford ; by Benson, Bishop of Gloucester ; and
by Gibson, Bishop of London. We have also a long
letter from Berkeley to Sir John James, on points in
theology, one or two letters of his to Thomas Prior,
as well as some rough drafts of letters to other corre-
spondents, and of portions of one or two of his published
works. All of these which seemed proper for publica-
tion have been incorporated with his Life and Letters,
in chronological order.

Almost all in the Berkeley Papers that is immediately
connected with Bishop Berkeley is summed up under
the foregoing heads. The remaining portion of the

xiv P R E F A C E.

manuscripts consists of numerous letters, addressed
mostly to his son George, or to his son's wife, by the
Bishop's widow, or by Miss Talbot, Bishop Home, Bishop
Gleig, and others. Some of these are very interesting, but
only remotely connected with the subject of this volume.

It is singular that so large an amount of hitherto
unpublished manuscript of the great Bishop Berkeley
should remain to be given to the world nearly a hundred
and twenty years after his death. It may be truly said
that this large collection contains nothing that is not
fitted to add to our reverence for him : not a line has
been found that is at variance with the overflowing purity
and charity which marked his life '.

To Archdeacon Rose the world is indebted not only
for these writings, but also for his kind co-operation with
me in the superintendence of the Italian Journal and the
Sermons while they were in the press, as well as for his
prefatory notes to those two portions of the Papers.

While these Papers have supplied the largest part of
the new matter illustrative of Berkeley's life of which
I have been able to avail myself in this volume, many
other interesting contributions have been gradually
gathered from various quarters.

In the course of a visit to Ireland for the purpose, and
of an extensive correspondence with various persons
there, previously and since, I have collected curious
and valuable particulars of Berkeley's family, birthplace,
school and college life in Ireland, his short residence
there on his return from Italy, and his eighteen years
afterwards at Cloyne. It is singular, however, that while

' Some of the Papers are much immersed in the sea, that great
dilapidated, and in some places so care and a strong light are neces-
obliterated, as if the MS. had been sary in reading them.

PREFACE. ■ XV

his fame as a philosopher has spread over the world, local
traditions about him have mostly perished in the country
of his birth, and what remains cannot now be traced
without much labour. Where I am indebted to so many
for help, in collecting and interpreting the few scattered
facts, it is difficult to name any. Yet I cannot withhold
the expression of my gratitude to the Rev. Dr. Reeves,
whose learning in all that concerns Ireland is widely
known ; the Rev, James Graves, the eminent Irish
archaeologist ; Richard Caulfield, LL.D., of Cork : also
to the Reverend the Provost and the Fellows of Trinity
College, Dublin. I am much indebted to the Rev.
Dr. Dickson, the librarian of Trinity College. And
I have to thank the clergy of Ireland, Protestant and
Roman Catholic, to whom I have been led to apply,
for their uniform courtesy and valued help.

I regret that notwithstanding the assistance so readily
given by Sir Bernard Burke, I have not been able to
clear up the difficulties connected with Berkeley's
pedigree.

The kindness of many distinguished persons in Ame-
rica has enabled me to throw some fresh light on the
romantic and charming episode of Berkeley's recluse life
m Rhode Island, when he went to try to realize the
noblest enterprise in Christian missions of last century,
or of almost any century since the Apostolic age. Here
too it is difficult to select amono- so manv, but I wish to
express in some degree what I owe to the kind efforts of
Dr. Porter, the distinguished philosopher of Yale College,
and Mr. Gilman, its librarian ; also to Mr. Rowland
Hazard, of Peacedale, in Rhode Island, who now culti-
vates philosophy in the vales where Berkeley studied ;
the Rev. Dr. Park of Andover, and the Rev. W. E. Park
of Lawrence, Massachusetts; the Hon. J. R. Bartlett,
Secretary- of State, Rhode Island; the Rev. Dr. Beardsley,

xvi P R K F A C E.

of the Episcopal Church at Newhaven ; Dr. King of
Newport; Mr. Langdon Sibley of Harvard College; and
Mr. Samuel Tyler of the IVIaryland Bar. •

To the Abbe Rabbe, the Abbe Blampignon, and the
Baroness Blaze de Bury, I am indebted for assistance
in my ineffectual endeavours to throw satisfactory light
upon Berkeley in France, and in his personal relations
to Malebranche.

The fruit of these efforts in Ireland, America, and
France is scanty. But one felt that the very attempt to
penetrate the mystery in which so much of Berkeley's
pure and beautiful life has been left enveloped, and to
rescue from oblivion the fast diminishing remains which
have survived the ravages of time, was so far its own
reward. Perhaps the publication of this volume may
draw out some more facts from their hiding-places. To
me it has been thus far a pleasant excursion into some
of the dimly discernible society of that olden time — in
Ireland, England, France, Italy, and America — in the
days of William, and Anne, and the first two Georges.

In the last chapter of the ' Life and Letters,' I have
tried to give the outcome of Berkeley's intellectual life
as a whole, touching upon some of its implied relations
to other phases of our national philosophy in the
eighteenth century, and to later philosophy looked at
from Berkeley's point of view.

A. C. FRASER.

College of Edinburgh,
Tehuary^ 1871.

CONTENTS.

LIFE AND LETTERS OF BERKELEY.
CHAPTER I.

PAGK

The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny: — 1685- 1700 i

CHAPTER n.

Trinity College, Dublin : A New Philosophical Principle : —

1700-1713 15

CHAPTER in.
England, France, and Italy: — 17 13-17 21 54

CHAPTER IV.

Back to Ireland : The American Enthusiasm : In London

again, and letters from England: — 1721-1728 ... 92

CHAPTER V.
A Recluse in Rhode Island: — 1728-1731 154

CHAPTER VI.
Back to London: — 1 731- 1734 191

CHAPTER VII.
First years in the Irish Diocese: — 17 34-17 38 228

CHAPTER VIII.

Philanthropy, Theology, and Philosophy at Cloyne : Tar-water : —

1738-1752 26r

VOL. IV. b

xviii CONTENTS.

CHAPTER IX.

PAGE

Oxford: The End: The Family Dissolution: — 1 752-1 7 53 . . 336

CHAPTER X.
The Philosophy of Berkeley.

A. Berkeley's New Question, and the Essence of his Answers

to it 362

B. Berkeleian Immediate Perception of Extended Sensible

Reality 383

C. Berkeleian Mediate Perception, or Presumptive Inference

of the Existence of Sensible Things and their Rela-
tions— illustrated in the New Theory of Vision . . 392

D. Berkeleian Intellectual Knowledge of Providential or

Divine Reality and Universal Conceptions .... 402

HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED WRITINGS OF
BISHOP BERKELEY.

Commonplace Book of Occasional Metaphysical Thoughts . 419

Description of the Cave of Dunmore 503

Journal of a Tour in Italy in i 717, 1718 512

Sermons preached in Trinity College, Dublin, and at Leghorn . . 598

Skeletons of Sermons preached in Rhode Island 629

Primary Visitation Charge at Cloyne 650

Confirmation Charge at Cloyne 657

LIFE AND LETTERS.

LIFE AND LETTERS

GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D.

RTSHOP OF rT.OVNF.

ERRATA AND ADDENDA.

Page 4, line 12, for 'Spencer' read 'Spenser.'

Page 62, 1. 5, for ' Smallridge ' read ' Smalridge.'

Page 107, in list of subscriptions for Bermuda, for ' Hutchinson ' read
'Hutcheson;' also on p. 138, 1. 31, and note 39, 1. 2; p. 139, 1. 6.
[Archibald Hutcheson was of the Middle Temple, London, and M.P.
for Hastings. He published in 1720 and 172 1 various treatises relating
to the South Sea scheme ; also, previously, tracts relating to the
National Debt.]

Page 159, note 7, 1. i,ybr ' Upside ' read ' Updike.'

Page 202, note 12, 1. ^, for 'Ublii Sylloge nova Epht.' read ' Uhlii Sylloge no-va
Episto/arum ■varii argumenti.' [This is a rare work, in 4 vols. 8vo., printed
at Nuremberg in 1760-64. The writer speaks slightingly of Berkeley's
Neiv Theory of Vision, as well as of Alciphron, both of ^yhich had been
recommended to him.]

Page 333, note 3, 1. 5, for ' Tyndal ' read ' Tindal.'

BerkeUifs Life and Letters.

snip at ueirast in tne reign or »^nanes 11. runner, tiiat me
philosopher was born at Kilcrin, or Killerin, near Thomastown, on
the 12th of March, 1684, that he received the first part of his
education at Kilkenny School, under Dr. Hinton, and that he
entered Trinity College, Dublin, at the age of fifteen, exhausts
the information thus given.

The truth is that almost no light now falls upon the family
life in which Berkeley's first revealed itself. What his parents
were, from whom descended, why they were living in the County
of Kilkenny at his birth, what the exact spot of his birth was, and

VOL. IV. B

LIFE AND LETTERS

GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D,

BISHOP OF CLOYNE.

CHAPTER I.

THE BERKELEY FAMILY IN KILKENNY.
1685 — 1700.

The early years and the ancestry, of George Berkeley are
curiously shrouded in mystery. He comes forth the most subtle
and accomplished philosopher of his time, almost from darkness.

The dry statements of the biographers may be soon summed
up. They tell us that his father, William Berkeley, of Thomas-
town in the County of Kilkenny, was the son of an English
royalist (somehow connected with the noble family of Berkeley),
who was rewarded for his loyalty to Charles I by a collector-
ship at Belfast in the reign of Charles II. Further, that the
philosopher was born at Kilcrin, or Killerin, near Thomastown, on
the 12th of March, 1684, that he received the first part of his
education at Kilkenny School, under Dr. Hinton, and that he
entered Trinity College, Dublin, at the age of fifteen, exhausts
the information thus given.

VOL. IV. B

2 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

what thoughts and aspirations the boy experienced in his early
years, have all been left in a darkness which the lapse of time
makes it now difficult in any degree to remove.

The earliest authentic documents about Berkeley which I have
been able to find belong to the places in which he was educated.
The first is in the curious old Register of the Free School or College
of Kilkenny!. Qn a page in that part of this Register which
contains ' the names of such as v/ere admitted into his Grace the
Duke of Ormonde's School in Kilkenny, since the warre ended in
Ireland, in the year 1691,' the following entry may be seen : —

' George Berkley^, gent, aged ii years, entered the Second Class, July 17, 1696/

And in another part of the Book, in a list of * names of such
as left his Grace the Duke of Ormonde's School at Kilkenny since
October the firsts an. dom. 1684,' we read: —

' Mr. George Berkley left the First Class, January 1 700, and was entered the University
of Dublin.'

The Register, as then kept, unfortunately does not give the
names and residences of the parents, except in a few cases of
persons of rank. The boy is usually designated ' gent.' or ' yeo-
man,' according to his father's social position.

The Register of Trinity College, Dublin, contains the following
entry : —

Annus

Pupillus

Parens

Ae/as

Ubi Naftts

Vbi Educalus

Tutor

1 e!>9

17 00

Geo. Berkley

Filius Guliel'
Berkley

annum
agens

Natus
Kiikenniae.

Ibi Educatus
sub D'-e

D-- Jo.
Hall

Vlartii,die 21.

Pens,

gen.

15-

Hinton.

V. Praep

Parish registry of births was hardly known in Ireland before the
year 1800. Any original record (if any) of Berkeley's birth or
baptism has been lost. But, as he was only eleven years old when
he entered school at Kilkenny, in July 1696, and only fifteen when
he matriculated at Trinity College, on the 21st of March 1700,
we may infer that i684 was the year of his birth. On the au-
thority of the biographers I assume that the day was the 12th
of March.

According to modern style, therefore, Berkeley was born on

1 The Rev. Dr. Martin, the present Head is in several other early documents. Indeed

Master, kindly allowed me to examine this we occasionallv find ' Berkly' and ' Barkly'

Here, as well as ni the Trinity College and, so far as can be ascertained, previously

Regisler, the name is spelt ' Berkley,' as it and sincr.. was unifornilv ' Berkelev.'

I.] The Bei^keley Family in Kilkenny. 3

the 12th of March 1685^. In the month preceding his birth,
Charles II had passed through his last hours in Whitehall, and
James II was entering on his short and disastrous reign. Before
1685 was ended, James was at the height of his power, and the
convulsions were approaching which ushered in the reign of
William and Mary in Ireland.

The spot in the County of Kilkenny at which Berkeley was born
is called by some 'Kilcrin, near Thomastown;^ ' Killerin,' near
the same place, by others.

This seems to be a mistake, and it is difficult to explain how
it originated. In the first place, Kilcrin or Killerin is not known
' near Thomastown.' In the second place, the uniform and vivid
tradition of all that country points to Dysert Castle or Tower, on
the bank of the Nore, about two miles below Thomastown, and
twelve miles below the City of Kilkenny, as the place of Berkeley's
birth. In the third place, this tradition is confirmed by various
entries in the Corporation Records of the ancient town of Inis-
tiogue, near Dysert, which show that Dysert was inhabited by
Berkeleys, at any rate in the early part of last century. These
Records prove that ' Randolph Berkely de Dysert, gent.,' was
admitted as a freeman on the 15th of April, 1728. The name
'Ralph Berkeley' also appears in that year, and in 1756. There
are several reasons for supposing that 'Randolph' and 'Ralph'
refer to the same person, which is important, for Berkeley, as
we shall see, had a brother named Ralph. It is a pity that the
Records do not date further back than 171 7 : if earlier ones were
ever kept they have been lost^. In the fourth place, the tradi-
tion is countenanced by the high local authority of the late
Mr. Tighe. In his Statistical Observations relative to the County of
Kilkenny (p. 638), published in 1802, he says that 'the Castle of
Dysett is remarkable for having been the birth-place of Bishop

^ In the sequel it may be assumed by the Coolmore. The family of Deane as well as

reader that the dates are given, so far as the Berkeleys are prominent in these Records,

known, according to the New Style. (In The signatures of Deanes, and of the Rev.

some of my annotations upon the Works, Maurice Berkeley (' Maurice Berkly, Clerk')

I inadvertently followed the old account of occur often between 174? and I753- Mau-

the year of Berkeley's birth.) rice Berkeley first appears in I 7' 7- ^^ '20th

* For the facts of the Inistiogue Records, December, 1 756, 'Ralph Berkeley' signs as

I am indebted to the kindness of Colonel the first burgess on the list. This is the last

Tighe of Woodstock and Mr. Connellan of appearance of a Berkeley in the book.

B 2

4 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Berkeley.' Mr. Tighe died in 1814, at an advanced age, and
might have known those who knew Berkeley's father.

A tradition, thus confirmed, may perhaps be accepted as satis-
factory evidence that Berkeley was born at Dysert, in the absence
of direct documentary proofs

This old monastic ruin is in one of the loveliest regions in
Ireland. It may well be that Berkeley was not a little indebted
for his deep-seated love of nature and fervid imagination to the
sparkling Nore, and to a childhood spent among the wooded hills
that enfold the valley through which it flows. The position of
the graceful ruin, on a grassy meadow on the bank of the river,
under the wooded hill-side on vhich a road from Thomastown to
Inistiogue now passes, shows at once to the eye that it was
not erected as a stronghold. It was originally a grange which
belonged to the rich priory of Kells, and was given, in the
sixteenth century, with other possessions of the Abbey, to James,
the ninth Earl of Ormond. A ruined church adjoins the tower to
the east. The tower itself was probably inhabited at one time
by the vicar of the monks.

Some comparatively modern remains of what might formerly
have been a considerable farm house, attached to the Tower on
the south, mark the site of the modest abode of the Berkeleys
of Dysert. The family inhabiting the house must also have oc-
cupied the Keep, and from the two windows of its upper chamber
they had within their view a charming scene. One can hardly
picture a place more suited to nourish the heart of the boy by
communion with nature, than this now classic part of the fair
vale through which the Nore descends from the city of Kilkenny
and Thomastown, through Inistiogue and amidst the foliage of
Woodstock, to its junction with the Barrow above New Ross.
The river itself is one of the three 'renowned brethren' to which
Spencer conducts us : —

' The first, the gentle Shure that, making way
By sweet Clonmel, adorns rich Waterford ;
The next, the stubborne Newre, whose waters gray,
By fair Kilkenny and Rossponte boord ;
The third, the goodly Barow.'

5 HowKilcrin, or Killerin, cametobeasso- archaeological friend suggests to me ety-
ciated with the birth-place of Berkeley it is mological affinities between Kilerin and Dy-
difficult to say. An ingenious and eminent sert— the last a name common in Ireland.

I.] The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny, 5

The peasantry of Kilkenny have had their quaint stories of the
Berkeleys of Dysert. With an inversion of facts not uncommon
in Irish traditions, they would tell that in his youth the philosopher
kept a school in the neighbourhood, and taught his scholars that
there was no spirit, but that when the body died the man was
annihilated. He used, they added, to make the boys leap over the
school benches till they were bruised and bled, and then explain
that after the blood all ran out there was an end of them. Another
fancy, equally absurd, was that Berkeley's own corporeal remains
were buried within the masonry of the battlements of Dysert^.

Thus the family of William Berkeley may be imagined in the
modest abode attached to Dysert Castle, in the vale of the Nore,
in March, 1685. But who and what was this William Berkeley,
and why then living there ? Bishop Stock, who professes to
have got much of the material in his brief biographical outline
from Berkeley's brother Robert, says, that William's father « went
over to Ireland, after the Restoration (the family having suffered
greatly for their loyalty to Charles I), and there obtained the
collectorship of Belfast.' In a note, in Wright's edition, it is added
that he went over ' in the suite of his reputed father, Lord Berkeley
of Stratton, who had been appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.'
According to this addition to the story, our Kilkenny branch
of the great Berkeley family must have gone to Ireland in 1670;
for it was in April of that year that the first Lord Berkeley of
Stratton landed to assume the Lord Lieutenancy, an office which
he held till April, 1672. As to the Belfast collectorship, it is
worthy of note that until 167 1 Carrickfergus was the head-quarters
of the revenue in those parts. Belfast, then an insignificant place,
is not mentioned at all in the Records till that year. The fi:st
acknowledgment of Belfast as a revenue town coincides, indeed,
with the period of Lord Berkeley of Stratton's rule in Ireland. But
the name of Berkeley has not been found in the lists of Belfast
revenue officials at that time. A recent careful search in the
Record Office, Dublin'^, has failed to discover a Berkeley, at or
about 1670, employed as a collector of any branch of the revenue,

® See Nooks and Corners of our Coutity, ditloiis in Ireland.
by Mr. Prim of Kilkenny. 1 have more '' Kindly made by Samuel Ferguson, LLD.,

than once encountered these whimsical tra- Public Record Office, Ireland.

6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

either in Belfast or in any part of Ulster. And it is rather
difficult to reconcile with ascertained chronological facts the un-
supported assertion that the supposed grandfather-collector was a
natural son of the first Lord Berkeley of Stratton. That noble-
man was born about 1608, and it is not obvious to suppose, in
the absence of positive evidence, that he was the great-grandfather
of the philosopher, born in 1685. That Berkeley's family was
originally from Berkeley Castle need not, however, be doubted,
nor that it was more immediately connected with the Berkeleys
of Stratton. He was afterwards introduced by Swift to the
representative of the Stratton Berkeleys as a kinsman, and also to
Earl Berkeley, as related to the family^. And his family is else-
where mentioned as a younger branch of the Earls of Berkeley.

The garrulous writer of the rambling Preface '^ to Monck Berkeley's
Poems speaks of Ireland as only ' accidentally' the country of the
philosopher Berkeley, his father and all his ancestors having been
born in England^'-. 'His grandfather,' she adds, 'expended a large
fortune in the service of king Charles I, and in remitting money
to king Charles II and his brothers. The only return was making

his son, the bishop's father ^^, collector of the port of in

Ireland, a more respectable post than in England, noblemen's sons
often accepting it. This occasioned the old gentleman's leaving his
malediction on any descendant of his who should ever in any way
assist any monarch.' That an English Cavalier in the seventeenth
century should devote his fortune to the first Charles, and be
requited with ingratitude by the second Charles— that till the king
was again in danger the injured Cavalier should grumble at the
king's ingratitude — all this was not uncommon in those days, and
with this the reader may take what satisfaction he can in the
glimpse of the Berkeley family and their history that is thus offered
in the eccentric Preface.

We know, at any rate, in a general way, that the condition of
Ireland after the Restoration afforded openings of which loyalist
adventurers of small fortune and good family in England then

' Swift is said to have introduced him in " It may be remarked that in the Querist

this characteristic way: 'My lord, here is (sect. 91, 92) Berkeley speaks of himself

a young gentleman of your family. ' I can rather as if ranking his people among the

assure your lordship it is a much greater English.

honour to you to be related to him, than to " Not grandfather, but father, according

him to be related to you.' to this account.

^ p. ccclxxxii.

I.] The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny. 7

availed themselves in considerable numbers. In 1662 an Act was
passed ' for encouraging Protestant strangers and others to inhabit
and plant in the Kingdom of Ireland.' A Commission of In-
quiry, issued in the same year, ^ with instructions concerning the
regicides in Ireland,' included the name of Sir Maurice Berkeley,
one of the brothers of Lord Berkeley of Stratton^'-. Sir Charles
Berkeley, their elder brother, who became Viscount Fitzhardinge
in 1665, and died in 1688, filled several important offices in Ire-
land, and, for the steadfastness of his loyalty, was rewarded after
the Restoration with grants of lands in the counties of Wicklow,
Carlow, and Kilkenny. His position in Ireland induced some of
his relations to settle there, amongst them the ancestors of the
Berkeleys of Skark in Wexford.

Sir Maurice Berkeley himself has been claimed as the grand-
father of the philosopher, and as the common ancestor of the
Berkeleys of Dysert and the Berkeleys of Skark. This, though in
some respects fully as likely as the Berkeley of Srratton story, I
have, as little as the other, been able to verify by documentary
evidence ^^.

Our Dysert Berkeleys, then, may have made their way to the
vale of the Nore, as one of many families of English colonists or
adventurers, who, in the quarter of a century preceding Berkeley's
birth, were finding permanent or temporary settlements in that
and other parts of Ireland. It does not seem however that they
had any firm holding in their adopted country. They appear
indeed in the Inistiogue corporation, but there is no mention of
them in various records in which the names of holders of land,
or officials of consideration might be expected to occur. The

^^ These facts are recorded in the Liher vernor of Virginia), and Sir Maurice above

Mmierum Puhlicoruni Hibernia. mentioned.

'^ Sir Maurice Berkeley, son of Sir Henry Maurice Berkeley, who in 1681 was put

Berkeley of Bruton (descended, through Sir in possession of the lands of Skark, near

Richard of Stoke Giftbrd in the County of New Ross, in the County of Wexford, is said

Gloucester, from a younger son of Maurice to have been a son of this Sir Maurice ; and

Lord Berkeley, who died in 1326), had five William Berkeley, the father of the philo-

sons. Of these Sir Charles, the eldest, who sopher, it is suggested, may have been an-

became Viscount Fitzhardinge, died without other son, temporarily settled about the

male issue, when his title became extinct. same time in the County of Kilkenny.

A younger son. Sir John Berkeley, was in Colonel Berkeley, the grandson of this

1658 created Lord Berkeley of Stratton. Maurice, and son of the Rev. Maurice

As mentioned above, he was sent to govern Berkeley of Skark, bequeathed the lands of

Ireland in 1670. He died in 1678. This Skark to his cousin Joseph Deane, who then

title too became extinct, in default of male called the place Berkeley Forest. These

issue, in 1772. The other three sons were are probably the 'Deanes' and the ' Maurice

Sir Henry, Sir William (the eccentric go- Berkly, Clerk' of ihe Inistiogue Records.

Life and Letters of Berkeley.

[CH.

symptoms suggest that they were not wealthy, but still recognised
as of gentle birth i^.

In the successive matriculation records of William Berkeley's
sons, in Trinity College, Dublin, he is variously described as ^ gene-
rosus (as already mentioned) in the case of George, in 1700;
^vexil. e^uestrh' (cornet), when his son Robert matriculated, in
1716; and '^dux mi/itum' (captain of horse), when his son Thomas
was enrolled, in 1721. The facts may have been that he was at
one time, as tradition affirms, an officer of customs, and that he
afterwards engaged in military service ^^.

Nothing perfectly trustworthy is recorded of Berkeley's mother.
She was probably Irish. In the gossiping Preface ^"^ already
quoted, we are told that she was ' aunt to old General Wolfe,
father of the famous general of that name' — the Quebec hero.
That there was a connection between the Berkeleys and the
Wolfes is not without other circumstantial evidence, as we shall
see -y and the Wolfes were of Irish connection. I have not
found any confirmation of another assertion of this lady — that
Berkeley was * nephew to Archbishop Usher, as well as his
cousin-german General Wolfe.' She also tells us that the philo-

" The number of untitled Berkeleys in
different parts of Ireland, in the seventeenth
century, was considerable, and the history of
their connection with the heads of the family
in England is in most cases obscure. Berke-
leys had estates in the County of Carlow in
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
Viscount Fitzhardinge had a grant of land
in that county in 1666, under the Act of
Settlement. A ' Henry Berkeley ' was named
a burgess of Carlow, in the charter granted
to the town in 1675 by Charles II; the
same name appears in the charter granted
to the same town by James II in 1689.
' Dr. Henry Berkeley' was one of the Jus-
tices of Peace in County Carlow, appointed
by William and Mary, in July, 1690. Digby
Berkeley served as High Sheriff of the county
in 1 707. Berkeleys were settled in Wexford
in the seventeenth century. In the same
century there was a Rowland Berkeley of
Kelmerix in the County of Tipperary. In
the early part of the century a Berkeley is
placed in Ireland, by the following pedigree
in the Herald's College in London, pointed
out to me by Sir Albert Woods : — ' John
Berkeley, Mayor of Hereford, in the reign
of Queen Elizabeth, son of Richard Berkeley

of Dursley, son of Richard also of Dursley,
son of Thomas, brother of Maurice Lord
Berkeley (in Henrv VII) ; had a sou William,
who married the daughter of Burghill, whose
son, William Berkeley, is now (cir. 1635)
living in Ireland.'

'■"' The register of Trinity College seems
almost to imply that the family removed
from the Nore and the County of Kilkenny
into the County of Tipperary some time
after the birth of the philosopher. The
matriculation entry of Robert bears that
he was born 'near Thurles,' about 1699;
that of Thomas, who seems to have been
the youngest son, that he too was born in
the County of Tipperary about 1 703.
(Robert was educated at Kilkenny, under
Dr. Dagrell, and Thomas at Dublin, under
Mr. Sheridan. This Sheridan was probably
Swift's friend, who kept a school of high
repute in Dublin about that time.) I find
no clue to the Tipperary movement. The
' Will Pedigrees ' in Ulster's Office, Dublin,
give a Rowland Berkeley in Tipperarj'
(Will dated 1 706), which proves some
Berkeley connection in that quarter.

"^ p. ccccxcviii.

I.] The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny. 9

sopher's father and mother ' both died in the same week, and
were interred at the same time, in the same grave/ It cannot
be said,' she adds, ' that they died an untimely death ; both being
near ninety. They lived to breed up six sons gentlemen. They
lived to see their eldest son a bishop some years before their
death.' If all this is true, they must have lived almost till 1740.

Leaving the ancestry, and inquiring about the descendants, we
find, from various sources, that William Berkeley had six sons, and
probably one daughter. The six sons, whom the parents ' lived
to breed up gentlemen,' were : —

1. George, born (as already mentioned) March 13, 1685. He

seems to have been the eldest.

2. Rowland, 'of Newmarket, Co. Cork,' according to the

Will Pedigrees in Ulster's Office. His Will is dated
May 5, 1757. Of his history I have no trace.

3. Ralph, according to the same authority, ' of Scarteen, near

Newmarket, Co. Cork,' Will proved 1778. ('Ralph
Berkeley,' as already mentioned, appears in the In-
istiogue Record in 1728, and in 1756.) Ralph married
' Anne Hobson.' A son, William, and a daughter,
Elizabeth, were the issue of this marriage. The daughter
married the Rev. Edward Kippax, Vicar of Clonfert,
near Newmarket. They had two sons, George and
Charles Berkeley, and two daughters, Mary and Anne.
Charles Berkeley Kippax was clerk in the chief secre-
tary's office, Dublin Castle, and corresponded with
Lord Cornwallis in 1798 '7.

4. William^ afterwards a commissioned officer in the army,

of whom it is recorded, in the same 'Pedigrees,' that
he married ' Anne,' and that three daughters, Anne,
Elizabeth, and Eleanor, were the issue of the marriage 1^.

5. Robert, born about 1699, 'near Thuries' (as already men-

tioned), afterwards Rector of Midleton, and Vicar-
General of Cloyne, died in 1787. Of him afterwards.

6. Thomas, regarding whom the Dublin College Register

exhausts the information, was born in the County of

" Cornwallis Correspondence, vol. iii. cxxxviii) it is said that William had four
p. 10. daughters, all twins.

1^ In the Preface to Monck Berkeley (p.

lo Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cm.

Tipperary about 1704, and entered Trinity College
in 1721.

Of the daughter I have no distinct account. Ber-
keley alludes to a ^ sister' in one of his letters to Prior,
written in 1744.

Berkeley's Common-place Book, that precious record of his
thoughts in his early years at College, reveals this much about
his inner child-life in the Kilkenny valley, among these domestic
surroundings : —

' From my childhood I had an unaccountabi'; turn of thought that way.
Mem. That I was distrustful at 8 years old, and consequently by nature disposed for these
new doctrines.'

It is not probable that Berkeley's dawning speculative reason
and imagination met with much sympathy in the family circle ;
though an even eccentric individuality, and much chivalry, may
be traced among his reputed ancestry i^. His parents have left
no discernible mark. In the glimpses we have of any of his
brothers we do not detect symptoms of community of spirit with
one born to be a philosopher in thought and action. On the con-
trary, Berkeley could hardly have been intelligible to the family,
we should fancy, from what we hear of them.

The imagination of the precocious child might, however, have
been disturbed by the circumstances of the time, if his singular
intellect was little quickened by family sympathy. The ' warre in
Ireland' was going on whilst he was advancing from his fourth
to his sixth year. He had not reached his sixth year when the
battle of the Boyne was fought; and we may imagine him at
Dysert on those now long past days when James made his rapid
retreat to Waterford, or when William of Orange was receiving
the hospitality which could be given at such a time in the ancient
castle of the Butlers at Kilkenny. We may picture the Berkeley
family in the neighbourhood when James, soon followed by
William, hu ried down the valley of the Nore.

But we must return from excursions of fancy to the Kilkenny

Recorded anecdotes show that the his- have had its effect upon the imagination of
tory of the noble house of Berkeley may the philosopher.

I.] The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny. ii

School; and to the Register 20 which records the simple fact of
Berkeley's appearance there on a summer day in 1696, when he
was placed in the Second Class. That he was placed so high is
remarkable. The lowest class at that time was the Fifth. One is
disposed to interpret as a sign of unusual precocity the fact, that
the boy, entering school at the age of eleven, was considered fit
for this advanced place. The old Register contains almost no
parallel instance ^^.

The page on which the name of 'George Berkley' occurs con-
tains a list of long-forgotten names — his school companions in
the old school. But the following entries refer to one who must
remain associated with Berkeley's history, as long as his life is
kept in distinct remembrance : —

' Thomas Pryor, gent., aged 15 years, entered the Third Class, Jan. i r, an. dom. 169^'
. . . ' Mr. Thomas Pryor left the Second Class, April 1699, and was entered in the
University of Dublin.'

It has escaped the biographers of Berkeley that his life-long
intimacy with Thomas Prior -^ of Rathdowney, the 'dear Tom'
of so many letters, commenced at Kilkenny School. Berkeley
went there in the summer of 1696, and Thomas Prior crossed the

^^ This Register commences on the 1st the same age, were placed in one of the

of October, 1684, on which day twenty boys junior classes. Berkeley's case is in fact

entered. The re-organization of the School unique in the early history of Kilkenny

after the Restoration of Charles II must School.

have been a good many years earlier. Dr. ^^ Prior is spelt 'Pryor' in the Register.
Edward Jones (afterwards Dean of Lismore, The Priors of Rathdowney were of some
and Bishop of Cloyne in 1683), was Head consideration in that part of the country.
Master from 1670 to 16S0 ; and Dr. Henry Grants of lands were made to them soon
Rider (afterwards Archdeacon of Ossory, and after the Restoration. The family, I believe.
Bishop of Killaloe in 1693), from 1680 to is now extinct. In the latter part of last
1684. The Register commences when Dr. century, Andrew Prior of Rathdowney mar-
Edward Hinton was appointed in 1684. It ried a sister of the first Lord Frankfort.
is continued without interruption till July Thomas Prior, Berkeley's friend, was born
27, 1688, after which a lacuna of nearly about 1682. We are indebted to his care
four years occurs, during which time the for the greater part of Berkeley's now extant
School seems to have been shut up. From correspondence. He was of a delicate con-
January, 1692, the series of entries is com- stitution, and did not enter any profession,
plete till August 6, 1716. To promote the happiness of his country

^^ The School was re-opened after the and his friends was the object of his life.

War on the 20th of January, 1692, four He was one of the founders (in June 1731)

years and a half before Berkeley entered of the Dublin Society, in which he long

it. Seventy-two boys joined in this interval, acted as Secretary. He published A List of

and Berkeley's name is the seventy-third in the Absentees of Ireland (1729); Ohserva-

the list. Of all these, as well as the others who tions on Coin (1729); On the Ejfects of

entered till the close of the century, Berkeley Tar Water (1746); Essay on the Linen

alone joined the Second Class at the early Manvfactiire in Ireland (1749). He died

age of eleven. All the others, at or under in 1751.

I 2 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

country from Rathdowney, in Queen's County, in the following
winter, to enter the same school.

The two boys found themselves in a quaint old house, three
stories high, with a garden attached to it which reached to the
Nore, the whole commanded by the ancient castle of the Or-
monds on the opposite bank. The present building is not
the one in which Berkeley and Prior formed their lasting friend-
ship. The modern School or College of Kilkenny is a large square
house, three stories high. Turning its back, as has been said, in
suitable abstraction from the hum and bustle of the small though
populous city, it faces toward the green country, an extensive
lawn spreading before it, which was washed by the placid
Nore. But the original edifice, with which Berkeley was
familiar, was a little farther back, and faced the street, 'a grey
reverend pile, of irregular and rather straggling design, or perhaps
of no design at all ; having partly a monastic physiognomy,
and partly that of a dwelling-house.' The entrance to the
school-room was immediately to the street ; the rough oak
folding doors, arching at top^ and gained by flights of steps
at each side, made a platform before the entrance, with a
passage below by which visitors approached. To the left was
another gateway by which carriages had egress. The front of
the building was of cut stone, with Gothic windows j giving
an appearance of a side or back rather than a front, with its
grotesque gables, chimneys, and spouts. The spouts jutted into
the street, and the platform before the school-room entrance
is said to have tempted the boys to contrive various annoyances
to passers by.

It was in this quaint building that Berkeley spent the greater
part of four years. It was pulled down about eighty years ago,
but when he entered it must have been comparatively new. The
School itself— the 'Eton of Ireland,' as it has been called— before
and since famed for its excellent masters, and its many celebrated
pupils, was originally an appendage to the magnificent Cathedral
of St. Canicc. It declined in the early part of the seventeenth
century, and had almost disappeared, when the original Ormond
foundation was revived, and placed upon a more ample footing,
soon after the Restoration. In 1684 it was confirmed by the
grant of a new Charter by the Duke of Ormond, and about that

I.] The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny. 13

time was reared the curious gabled building, with its small central
court, in which Berkeley studied.

The School had not escaped the troubles of the time. Dr.
Hinton, who was Head Master while Berkeley was a pupil, had
retired to England during Tyrconnel's government. In his absence
the house was converted into a military hospital. After the rout
of the Boyne, the second Duke of Ormond returned to his ancestral
castle at Kilkenny. The School endowed by his grandfather was
restored to the original foundation. It was opened again by Dr.
Hinton 23 in January, 1692.

Besides Berkeley, Swift has helped to make the Kilkenny School
famous. His name is not to be found in the Register, for he
was there before the earliest entry in it was commenced. But
there is Swift's own authority for it, and that of the Matriculation
Register of Trinity College 2^. Piovost Baldwin, Harris the
historian, Flood the orator, and Banim the novelist, are among
the later ornaments. Scions of the noble houses of Desert,
Inchiquin, Waterford, Mornington, Lismore, Charlmont, Boyle,
Bandon, and Shannon, were in those days to be found upon its
benches. A late learned Head Master laments that now ' the great
men and the little men of Ireland are no longer satisfied with an
education in their own country,' and adds that ' the consequence
is an unlearned and mentally enfeebled race, instead of the giants
of the days when Ireland educated her own sons^"'.'

In these four years, Berkeley may be supposed to have learned
to construe Latin books, and perhaps easy Greek ones. Nor
were questions of mathematics, we may imagine, entirely

22 Dr. Hinton was Master from 1684 till ^* In the Registry of Trinity College we

his death in 1703. He was also (1693- have the following : —
1703) Archdeacon of Cashel.

Tutor

St. George

Ashe.

As already mentioned, Rider (a native three brothers (including the father of the

of Paris) was Master of Kilkenny School Dean of St. Patrick's), to go over as colonists

from 1680 to 1684. to that country, where they obtained agen-

Swift, like Berkeley, was of English and cies and other employments, according to

Cavalier descent. His grandfather, the the fashion of the time.
Rev. Thomas Swift, a vicar in Hereford- ^ See ' Kilkenny College,' by the Rev.

shire, suffered for his zeal in the cause of John Browne, LL D., in the Transactions of

Charles I. The eldest son, Godwin, ob- the Kilkenny ArchcEological Sociely, vol. i.

tained an appointment in Ireland, under the pp. 221 — 229 — an article to which I am

Duke of Ormond, and his success induced indebted.

1682,

Jonathan

Filius

Natus

Educatiis

Vicesimo

Swift,

Thomae

annos

in comi-

sub ferula

quarto die

Pens.

Jonathani

quatuor

tatu Dub-

Mag. Rider

Aprilis

Swift

decim

liniensi

14 Life and Letta^s of Berkeley.

strange to him and his companions. But what exactly he was
asked to learn, and how he learned it, is not clear. It has been
affirmed and denied ^e that in his youthful days he fed his imagina-
tion with the airy visions of romances, and that these helped to
dissolve his sense of the difference between illusion and reality.
What the romances may have been we are not told, nor can
we readily conjecture. There is some evidence that he indulged
in observation of nature, with a propensity to explore the country
round Kilkenny. His hitherto unpublished account (contained in
another part of this volume) of a visit, perhaps about this time,
to the Cave of Dunmore, four miles from the city, is more in keep-
ing than the books of romance of that day with his inquisitive
curiosity about all physical phenomena, afterwards remarked by
Blackwell. The new neighbourhood was not less apt to awaken
a love for the visible world than the scenes of his childhood on
the Nore below Thomastown. Kilkenny has been compared to
Warwick, and to Windsor, and to Oxford. However one may
judge of these comparisons, no modern visitor of the Irish city
can soon forget the still beauty of the Nore, as viewed upwards
or downwards on a fair summer evening from John's bridge, or
from the College meadow • or the intermixture of buildings, new
and old — Castle, Cathedrals, and Round Tower, so happily grouped
on the high ground on which the city stands^ or the free and
careless grace of nature in all the neighbouring country.

Such were the surroundings of the boy Berkeley, as we now
dimly discern him and his family doings through the mists of
nearly two centuries. Out of them emerged soon after, on the
death of Locke and Leibnitz, one who was then without doubt
the foremost psychologist and metaphysician in Europe.

2" The affirmation is in the Biog. Brit. et Corrigenda), on the authority of Mrs.
(vol. ii. art. 'Berkeley') and by Stock; the Berkeley,
denial in the Biog. Brit. (vol. iii. — Addenda

CHAPTER 11.

TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN. ENTHUSIASM ABOUT A NEW
PHILOSOPHICAL PRINCIPLE.

1700 — 1713.

On the 21st of March, 1700, Berkeley, leaving the ancient city
of Kilkenny, and the picturesque valley of the Nore, matriculated
in Trinity College, Dublin. Trinity College was his head-quarters
during the thirteen years which followed. Not long after his
matriculation, we find him exulting, with the fervour of an en-
thusiastic temperament, in a New Principle, for the relief of
the difficulties of human knowledge, with which he somehow
felt himself inspired, and which he was eager to apply to our
conception of the material world and its supposed powers. His
thoughts soon began to overflow in writings, published and un-
published, so that we cannot follow him during these thirteen years
without becoming involved in the speculations of metaphysical
philosophy. We have in this chapter to trace the beginnings of
his intellectual history.

Let us first look at the City and University where this Kil-
kenny boy found himself nine days after he had completed his
fifteenth year, and in which the inclination of his childhood to
reflective thought found energetic expression.

Dublin in those days little resembled the brilliant and pros-
perous city which pleases the eye of the stranger who now visits
the Irish capital. The ground now covered by its most graceful
buildings was then waste land or meadow. The population,
which in 1700 was probably less than 50,000, was gathered round
the Castle and the Cathedrals, with some signs of new streets on

1 6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

the opposite side of the Liffey, where old ones are now found.
The original buildings of Trinity College, erected partly in the
reign of Elizabeth, were becoming ruinous, and, although standing
where the classic modern structure stands, were then in the
outskirts of the city. The College was designated Trinity College
'near Dublin.'

The City and the surrounding country, at the opening of the
new century, were beginning to recover from the effects of the
' warre in Ireland,' which had ended ten years before. The Univer-
sity was about to renew its youth, after having been on the verge
of ruin. The contest into which the Revolution of 1688 plunged
Ireland, involved Trinity College, as well as the ' famous school'
of Kilkenny, in its collisions. Early in 1689 the Registry reveals
preparations for flight on the part of the Fellows. A month later
the College was occupied by the military, and most of the Fellows
were in England. Then James arrived in Dublin, and converted
the academical buildings into a garrison, and the old College
Chapel into a magazine for gunpowder. It was even proposed
to commit the Library to the flames.

The battle of the Boyne, in July 1690, saved the University in
the crisis of its fate. After this, it recovered rapidly, by the
fostering care of the Government, and the sagacity of its Provosts
and other officials. Even in 1693, it was able to celebrate its
first centenary in a way not unbecoming. It gradually engaged
the attention and support of the Irish Parliament. Successive
grants of money were made in the early part of the eighteenth
century and afterwards. New buildings began to rise. Many of
the extensive and handsome academical structures which now
form Trinity College were reared in the reigns of Anne and
the first two Georges. Little remains of the decayed build-
ings, desecrated in war, which met Berkeley's eye when he came
to matriculate in March 1700. The present magnificent library
was erected between 1710 and 1720. The elegant west front
belongs to a still later period, as well as the new College Chapel,
which stands a little to the north of the old one, where Berkeley
went to daily prayers, and delivered discourses on Sundays.
Intellectual activity, and extension of the means of knowledge
seem, as the century advanced, to have fairly kept pace with the
renovation of the College buildings. The influence of the dis-

II.] Trinity College^ Dttblin. 1 7

coveries of Newton, Boyle, Hooke, and Locke, and of the splendid
hypotheses of Des Cartes, Malebranche, and Leibnitz — a galaxy of
men of genius who were passing away as the eighteenth century
was opening — began gradually to show itself. Lectureships in
chemistry, botany, and anatomy were added to the College courses
in 1710. Experimental philosophy soon followed. A complete
school of physic was designed, and to a great extent organised,
later in the century. Nor was modern science the only object
of regard. In 1718, Archbishop King endowed a Divinity Lecture,
to be held by a Senior Fellow, for the better instruction of
Bachelors of Arts intended for holy orders.

A scholasticism out of which the subtle intellectual life of the
middle ages had departed apparently still prevailed in the Uni-
versity, at the close of the seventeenth century, especially in logic
and metaphysics, ethics and theology. From more than one
eminent man subjected to the influences of Trinity College at this
time, there came complaints of the tendency of the system to crush
spontaneous thought and inquiry, similar to those of contemporary
students in other European Universities. Logic, according to the
model of that time, was in vain presented to Swift's notice, for
instance, during the years in which he was at Trinity (1682 — 87),
although it was then and there a principal object of learning. 'His
disposition,' says Scott, ' altogether rejected the scholastic sophistry
of Smiglicius, Keckermannus, Burgersdicius, and other ponderous
worthies, now hardly known by name- nor could his tutor ever
persuade him to read three pages in one of them, though some
acquaintance with the commentators of Aristotle was then abso-
lutely necessary at passing examination for his degrees ^' Swift
was naturally averse to the subtleties of the schools, but this
aversion to a then dead philosophy was shared by more specu-
lative minds, and only waited for a powerful philosophical voice
to give it practical expression.

The Provost of Trinity, in March 1700, was Dr. Peter Browne^
— a man not unworthy of note in the philosophical annals of
Ireland, as the author afterwards of the Procedure andUm'tts of Human

' Life of Swift, pp. 15, 16. mined in favour of' Browne,' by the most

^ The orthography — 'Brown' or 'Browne' numerous and weighty (but not by all) the

— about which I have hitherto hesitated, in original authorities. In fact the practice

the conflict of precedents, has been deter- was not uniform, as in the case of ' Berkeley.'

VOL. IV. C

1 8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Understanding and the Div'me Analogy ^ and as a learned critical an-
tagonist of Locke. Many now remember him, when they remember
him at all, on]y for his whimsical sermons and pamphlets ^ against
drinking healths, and against drinking in remembrance of the dead.
The life of Browne is unwritten, but it deserves research. Ac-
cording to contemporary report, he was ' an austere, learned,
and mortified man.' The gravity of his manner, and the severe
beauty of his eloquence as a preacher are said to have checked
the ' false glitter of words' in which his countrymen are apt to
indulge themselves. In 1700 he was known as the author of
the most learned and vigorous reply ^ then encountered by Toland's
Christianity not Mysterious.^ a reply which contains the germs of
some of his own philosophical theology. He was bom in the
county of Dublin soon after the Restoration, and he entered
Trinity College in June 1682. Ten years later he became a Fellow.
He was raised to the Provostship in August 1699, a few months
before Berkeley matriculated, and was promoted to the bishopric
of Cork and Ross in January 1710''. Browne was thus Provost
during the greater part of Berkeley's residence in Trinity. Long
after this, they encountered one another as philosophical and
theological antagonists, and we shall find them near neighbours
for a few months in a distant part of Ireland.

In his early years at Trinity, Berkeley was under the tuition of
Dr. John Hall, who was Vice-Provost from 1697 till 1713. To
Hall he attributes, in the Preface to his Arithmetical his own early
enthusiasm in mathematics, and he refers with gratitude to his
example and instructions. Of other contemporary Fellows or
Professors nothing particular is recorded. Pratt and Baldwin,

^ (i) Drinking in Remembrance of the * A Letter in Answer to a Book entitled

Dead, being the substance <f a Discourse ' Christianity not Mysterious ;' as also to all

delivered to the Clergy of the Diocese of those who set up for Reason and Evidence

Cork. DuhVm, 1713. (2) Second Part of in opfOHtion to Revelation and Mysteries.

Drinking in Remembrance of the Dead, &c. Dublin, 1697. This work brought the

Dublin, 1 714 (3) An Answer to a Right author the pa'ro. age of Marsh, Archbishop

Reverend Prelate's Defence of Eating and of Dublin, whose influence gained for Browne

Drinking to the Memory of the Lead. the Provostship of the College, and after-

Dubhn, 1715 (4) ^ Discourse of Drinking wards the bishopric of Cork. Toland, ac-

Healths ; wherein the great evd of the custom cordingly, used to say that it was he who

is shewn. Dublin, 17 16. {^) A Letter to a made Browne Bishop of Cork.
Gentleman in Oxford on the Subject of » s„,jft expected this bishopric when

Health Drinking. 1722. Browne got it, and the disappointment is

The Jacobites were said to indulge in the said to have been the immediate occasion of

practice of drinking in remembrance of the his going over to the Tories,
dead King James.

II.] Trmity College, Dublin. 19

afterwards distinguished Provosts, seem to have been among the
number, as well as Nicholas Forster, afterwards Bishop of Killaloe
and of Raphoe, and Richard Helsham, afterwards Professor of
Natural Philosophy.

In Dublin, outside the University, considerable intellectual
forces were at work. One remarkable figure, associated both with
the City and the University in the last two decades of the
seventeenth century, was William Molyneux, born of a family
eminent in letters and in public life*^, whose keen and delicate
features are represented in his picture in the Examination Hall
of the College. The correspondence of Molyneux with Locke,
his visit to the English philosopher at Oates, and the story of his
death immediately after the pleasant weeks in Essex, are familiar
to those acquainted with the history of the English philosopher.
He was born in Dublin in 1655, and entered the University in
1670. In June 1676, he became a member of the Middle Temple,
and applied himself for a time to the study of law. But his
inclination lay in another direction. He was delicate from his
infancy, and through life he suffered from a dangerous chronic
disease. This did not interfere with his strong bias to mathe-
matics and the modern philosophy, nor with his expressions of
contempt for the scholasticism then dominant in the University.
He was active in promoting the modern spirit of inquiry.
In 1680, he published a translation of the Meditations of Des
Cartes, the objections of Hobbes, and Des Cartes' rejoin-
ders, along with a short biographical account of the French
philosopher. In 1683, he founded a Society in Dublin,
similar to the Royal Society of London, in which he acted
as secretary, and which continued in vigour for several years,
till it was dispersed by the storms of 1688. About that time the
severities of Tyrconnel obliged Molyneux to fly to England. He
spent some time with his family at Chester, and there his son
Samuel was born, afterwards the friend of Berkeley. After his

* The father of William Molyneux (spelt sician. The grandfather, Daniel, was Ulster

Molynex in the matriculation registry of King at Arms, called by Ware venerandce

TrinityCollege, and elsewhere Molineux) was antiqidtath cnllor. A Thomas Molyneux

an eminent engineer, and an author in that was Chancellor of the Exchequer in Ireland

department. He died in 1696. A brother, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.
Sir Thomas Molyneux, was an eminent phy-

C 2

20 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

return to Dublin, he devoted himself to optics and philosophy, and
to the social questions of Ireland. His Dioptrica Nova appeared
in 1692 and was warmly praised by Halley. In the same year he
was chosen to represent the University of Dublin in the Irish
Parliament, a position which he held till his death in 1698. In
politics he was a champion for the independence of his native
country, and published in 1697 his celebrated Case of Ireland
t>eing bound by Acts of Farliament hi E?igland. His cordial cor-
respondence with Locke, from 1692 till his death in 1698,
suggested some important additions to the Essay on Human Under-
standingj and occasioned the interesting visit to Oates in the
month before he died.

Partly through the influence of William Molyneux, the Essay
on Human Understanding found its way into the hands of reading
men in Dublin before the end of the seventeenth century. It
was translated into Latin, in 1701, by Ezekicl Burridge, a native
of Cork, and a member of Trinity College, The name of Locke,
as well as that of Des Cartes, must have been tolerably familiar
there in March 1700. The Recherche of Malebranche too, the
contemporary rival of the Essay in the philosophical world,
cannot have been unknown; and curious readers may have en-
countered the Ideal or Intelligible World of John Norris, the English
Malebranche^ soon after it appeared in 1701 — 4. At the same time
the rivalry between the natural philosophy of Des Cartes and the
natural philosophy of Newton was going on, and both were
drawing attention away from the natural philosophy of Aristotle.
The Principia of Newton was published thirteen years before
B.nkeley entered Trinity College, The method of Fluxions was
beginning to be employed, and was struggling for mastery with
the Calculus of Leibnitz. The Dioptrics of Molyneux was soon
followed by the Optics of Newton, Wallis and the Oxford
mathematicians, with the works of the founders and leaders of
the Royal Society, then forty years old, might have been common
talk in the academic circle of Dublin in the opening years of
the century. Berkeley, in short, entered an atmosphere, in the
College of Queen Elizabeth, which was beginning to be charged
with the elements of reaction against traditional scholasticism in
physics and in metaphysics.

During the greater part of these thirteen yeais, the archbishopric

II. ] Trinity College^ Dublin. 2 1

of Dublin was held by a prelate who takes a distinguished place
among the philosophical theologians of his time. William King,
already known as the author of the treatise He Origine Mali
which employed the controversial pens of Bayle and Leibnitz,
was translated from Derry to Dublin in 1 703. He was the sagacious,
witty, and sarcastic ecclesiastical governor of that province for
twenty-six years. The personal appearance and discourses of
the philosophic Archbishop cannot have been unknown to the
undergraduates and graduates of Trinity College of those years.
Traces of intercourse between the subtle Berkeley and King,
the discreet and dignified politician, if any ever existed, are now
lost. Browne as Provost, and King as Archbishop, must have
been known to each other. And references to the philosophical
theology of the other two are to be found in the subsequent
writings of all the three.

The year in which Berkeley matriculated in Dublin was also
the year in which Swift was settled at Laracor, about twenty
miles north-west of the city. Laracor was his hom.e during the
thirteen years of Berkeley's residence in Trinity, and it was at the
end of the thirteen years that Swift became Dean of St. Patrick's.
It was in those years that he was planting his willows, and making
his canal, and enjoying, as much as his frequent visits to London
would permit, ' the garden, and the river, and the holly and the
cherry trees, and the river walk.' Before he went to London
in 1 7 10, to spend three years there, the intimate of Earls
and Ambassadors, he had probably heard of Berkeley, one of the
Junior Fellows of Trinity College, then the author of a remark-
able book.

Among his undergraduate compeers, Berkeley found his old
Kilkenny schoolfellow, Thomas Prior. Samuel Madden, the founder,
with Prior, of the Royal Irish Society, some thirty years after, was
also an undergraduate in those days. William Palliser, son of the
Archbishop to whom Trinity College is indebted for its B'tbllotheca
'Pallhertana^ seems to have been .also a College chum. Later on
in Berkeley's course, Edward Synge, afterwards Bishop of Ferns and
of Elphin, was an intimate associate, and so too might have been
Barry Hartwell, afterwards brother-in-law of the Dean Gervais,
who was the friend and correspondent of Berkeley's old age.

22 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Conterini% the good uncle of Oliver Goldsmith, another of his
chums, is connected by a characteristic story with Berkeley's early
years at College. Curiosity, it is said, led the young student
from Kilkenny to go to see an execution. He returned pensive
and melancholy, but inquisitive about the sensations experienced
by the criminal in the crisis of his fate. He informed Conterini
of his eccentric curiosity. It was agreed between them that he
should himself try the experiment, and be relieved by his friend
on a signal arranged, after which Conterini, in his turn, was to
repeat the experiment. Berkeley was accordingly tied up to the
ceiling, and the chair removed from under his feet. Losing
consciousness, his companion waited in vain for the signal. The
enthusiastic inquirer might have been hung in good earnest, —
and as soon as he was relieved he fell motionless upon the floor.
On recovering himself his first words were — 'Bless my heart,
Conterini, you have rumpled my band.' After this his friend's
curiosity was not enough to induce him to fulfil the original
agreement. If not true in the letter, this story is at least true
to the spirit of Berkeley's ardent psychological analysis, and brave
indifference even to life in the interest of truth.

This among other eccentric actions, we are told, made Berkeley
a mystery. Ordinary people did not understand him, and laughed
at him. Soon after his entrance, he began to be looked at as
either the greatest genius or the greatest dunce in College. Those
who were slightly acquainted witli him took him for a fool ;
but those who shared his intimate friendship thought him a
prodigy of learning and goodness of heart. When he walked
about, which was seldom, he was surrounded by the idlers,
who came to enjoy a laugh at his expense. Of this, it is said,
he sometimes complained, but there was no redress j the more
he fretted the more he amused them.

' The Rev. Thomas Conterini, or Con- Ireland in 1701, he entered Trinity College,
terine as I find by the College Register, where he was distinguished for intelligence
entered Trinity College October 2, 1702, in and goodness of heart, and for his intimate
his eighteenth year—' filius Austin Conte- friendship with Berkeley. He long held the
riiie Coloni, natus Cestuae, educatus Wrexom, living of Oran in Roscommon. He married
in Walha He was descended from a mem- Goldsmith's aunt, and it was by his kindness
ber ot the noble fmiily of Conterini in that the poet was enabled to pursue his
Venice, who took refuge in England, and studies at college. It is to him that Gold-
was for a time settled in Cheshire. Thomas smith alludes in his De&erted Village—
was born there and went thence to school at ' Near yonder copse, where once the
Wrexham, ,n Denbighshire. Removing to garden smiled,' &c.

II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 23

In spite of these imp:'diments, he pursued his studies, in those
first years at Trinity, according to report, with extraordinary
ardour, 'full of simplicity and enthusiasm.' He was made a
Scholar in 1702^. In the spring of 1704 (the year Locke died)
he became Bachelor of Arts''. He took his Master's degree in
the spring of 1707. After the customary arduous examination of
that University, conducted in presence of nobility, gentry, and
high officials, he passed with unprecedented applause, and was
admitted to a Fellowship, June 9, 1707^", 'the only reward of
learning that kingdom has to bestow,' as one of his biographers
curtly says.

The ^ Berkeley Papers' throw fresh and interesting light upon
his employments, and upon the occupation and progress of his
thoughts, in the seven years between his matriculation and his
election as Fellow.

One academical enterprise which these Papers record deserves
to be mentioned. Early in 1 705, it seems that Berkeley and
some of his College friends formed a Society to promote their
investigations in the New Philosophy of Boyle, Newton, and
Locke. The manuscript commences with these words in Berkeley's
own handwriting: — 'Mem. The following Statutes were agreed
to and signed by a Society consisting of eight persons, January 10,
A.D, 1705.' The 'Statutes' are then given, as follows, in the
handwriting of another : —

' That the Officers of this Society be a President, Treasurer, Secretary,
and Keeper of the Rarities.

That these Officers be elected out of the Members by the majority
of voices.

^ The emoluments of a Scholar in those laurei tituluni consequendum, si quis Hebrai-

days seem not to have exceeded £3. cae Grammaticae praecepta sic intelligat, ut

* The following extract from Temple's eorum ductu possit voces Hebraeas, sive

Statutes, which were then virtually in nomina sint sive verba, expedite flectere, et

force, throws light on the necessary primum secundumque Psalmum in Hebrso

qualifications of a Bachelor of Arts : — in Latinam convertere.'

' Cap. VII. De Graeci et Hebraici Idiomatis '" For the following entry or note occurs

cognitione, quanta esse debeat in iis qui in the records of Trinity College regarding

Bacchalaureatum in Artibus voluit assumere. Berkeley : — ' In 1 706 no Fellowship vacant,

Ut ilium Bacchalaurei nomine in- but in September Mr. Mullart resigned on a

dignam putemus, qui non possit totius Novi living. In 1 70?' '^'^- Berkeley, who had

Testamenti textum Grsecum Latine inter- entered in \f^, under Dr. Hall, was elected

pertari. Quod vero ad Hebraicse linguae a Fellow.'
cognitionem attinet satis erit ad Baccha-

24 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

That every Member when he speaks address himself to the President.

That in case of equality the President have a casting-voice.

That when two offer at once the President name the person that
shall speak.

That the Assembly proceed not to any business till the President
give orders.

That in the absence of the President the Assembly choose a
Chairman.

That no new Member be admitted before the 9th of July, 1706.

That the Treasurer disburse not any money but by order of the
House, signed by the President, and directed by the Secretary.

That he shall make up his accounts quarterly, or upon resignation
of his office.

That the notes signed by the President and directed by the Secretary
make up the Treasurer's accounts.

That the Treasurer may disburse money for public letters without a
note from the President, but shall acquaint the Assembly with it next
meeting and then get a note.

That the Secretary have the charge of all papers belonging to the
Society.

That the Keeper of the Rarities attend at the Museum from 2 to 4
on Friday, or the person whom he shall depute.

That at the request of any of the Members the Keeper of the Rarities
attend in person, or send the key to the Member.

That no one interrupt a Member when he is speaking.

That no one speak twice to the same matter before every one who
pleases has spoken to it.

That no one reflect on the person or opinions of any one whatever.

That if any one uses an unwary expression he may have leave to
explain himself.

That no Member reveal the secrets of the Assembly.

That when any of the Members bring in a paper, the President
appoint any three he pleases to examine it against next meeting, and
give in their opinion of it in writing.

That the time appointed for meeting be 5 of the clock every Friday
evening.

That whoever is absent from the meeting be fined sixpence, and he
that comes after six of the clock threepence.

That the punishment for the transgression of any other Statute be
determined by the Assembly.

II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 25

That these punishments be paid the Treasurer either before or at
next meeting.

That the Assembly may repeal or alter these Statutes or make new
ones.

That everything not provided for otherwise be determined by majority
of voices.

That the Elections of Officers be made at the last meeting of every
quarter, and that the Officers then elected continue for the three fol-
lowing months.

That whoever leaves the Assembly before it's broken up pay
threepence.

That every meeting the majority appoint a subject for next conference.

That first the President speak concerning the matter to be discoursed
on, and after him the next on his right hand, and so on every one
that pleases in order as they sit, and that such member stand up as
he speaks.

That when these more solemn discourses are over, and not till then,
every one may talk freely on the matter, and propose and answer what-
ever doubts or objections may arise.

That when the subject of the conference has been sufficiently dis-
cussed the members may propose to the Assembly their inventions, new
thoughts, or observations in any of the sciences.

That the conference continue for three hours at least, or longer if
the Assembly think fit.

That the conference begin at three in the afternoon on Friday and
continue till eight.'

The following queries and other memoranda in Berkeley's
writing, obviously connected with Locke's Essay^ follow in the
Common-place Book immediately after the Statutes, but whether
they were to be considered at any of the meetings of the Society
does not appear: —

' Qu. Whether number be in the objects without the mind. L. [Locke]
b. 2. c. 8. s. 9.

Why powers mediately perceivable thought such, immediately per-
ceivable not. b. 2. c. 8. s. 19.

Whether solids seen. b. 2. c. 9. s. 9.

Whether discerning, comparing, compounding, abstracting, &c.,
remembering, knowing simple or complex ideas — the same with, or
different from perception .?

Whether taste be a simple idea, since it is combined with existence,
unity, pleasure, or pain ?

26 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Whether all the last mentioned do not make a complex idea as well
as the several component ideas of a

Wherein brutes distinguished from men? Wherein idiots from
madmen ?

Whether any knowledge without memory ?

God space, b. 2. c 13. s. 326 and 15. 2.

Rotation of a fire-brand, why makes a circle?

Why men more easily admit of infinite duration than infinite
expansion ?

Demonstration in numbers, whether more general in their use for the
reason? L. qu. b. 2. ch. 10.

Inches, &c., not setded, stated lengths against, b. 2. c. 13. s. 4.

Qu. Whether motion, extension, and time be not definable, and there-
fore complete ?

Qu. Whether the clearness or distinctness of each greater mode of
number be so verified ?

Qu. Why Locke thinks we can have ideas of no more modes of
number than have names ?

Not all God's attributes properly infinite. Why other ideas besides
number be not capable of infinity ? Not rightly solved.

Infinity and infinite. No such thing as an obscure, confused idea of
infinite space.

Power is not perceived by sense.

Locke not to be blamed if tedious about innate ideas, soul always
thinking, tension not essence of body, tune can be conceived and
measured when no modon, willing not force, &c.

A thing may be voluntary though necessary. Qu. Whether it can
be involuntary ?

Things belonging to reflection are for the most part expressed by
forms borrowed from things sensible.'

One other record, either of the same or of a similar Society,
immediately follows these queries and notes: —

' December the seventh, in the year one thousand seven hundred and
six, Agreed —

That we the under written persons do meet on every Thursday, at
five of the clock in the evening.

That the business of our meeting be to discourse on some part of
the New Philosophy.

That the junior begin the Conference, the second senior speak
next, and so on.

II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 27

That at the close of every Conference, we appoint a Subject for the
following.'

The ' underwritten ' names unfortunately are not given. We
are left in the dark about Berkeley's associates at these Thursday
evening meetings, for the discussion of the 'New Philosophy;' and
also very much as to the questions they discussed, and the con-
clusions (if any) which they reached. The office of 'Keeper of
the Rarities' probably implies that observation and experiment
were as much in vogue among them as the mathematical and
metaphysical speculations of the hitherto unpublished Common-
place Book in which the memorials of this Society appear. The
other contents of that Book, written by Berkeley's own hand,
and now published in another part of this volume, may
perhaps exemplify some of the questions which engaged these
Trinity College inquirers in the two years before he obtained
his Fellowship.

The promotion of Societies, literary and philosophic, was a
work in which through life Berkeley seemed fond of engaging.
We find instances of this afterwards.

The Common-place Book, to a stray page in which we owe our
information about this academical reunion, represents Berkeley's
studies, and the course of his thoughts, apparently from about his
eighteenth till about his twenty-second year — the years immediately
before he presented himself to the world as an author. It is a
biographical document of great value to those whose conception of
biography comprehends analysis of the progressive unfolding of
individual human mind. It contains thoughts, self-originated, or
immediately occasioned by reading, partly in natural philosophy
and mathematics, chiefly in psychology, metaphysics, ethics,
and theology. The prevailing tendency of the whole is to the
banishment of scholasticism from philosophy, as well as all talk
about things which cannot be resolved into living experience of
concrete matter of fact, — called by him idea or sensation. He is
everywhere eager to simplify things and make knowledge practi-
cal, to bring men back to facts, and to expel empty abstractions
from philosophy, as the bane of religion and morality not less
than of physical science. There is also a disposition towards the

28 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

intellectual independence which rebels against the bondage of
words, and an enthusiastic straightforwardness of character, apt
to be regarded as eccentricity by the multitude — but with a desire
to conciliate too. What he writes plainly flows from himself,
if ever any writing did flow from the mind of the writer.

The mathematical observations contained in the Common-
mon-place Book do not suggest a high standard of proficiency ; but
it must be remembered that they are the work of one hardly
beyond the age of a schoolboy. In the early parts, infinite divisi-
bility and incommensurables recur. These Berkeley exclaims
against as examples of the unmeaning verbal abstractions which
might, he thought, be banished from science by an all- comprehen-
sive purgative Principle which he was then beginning to see,
and in the first indistinct recognition of which he indulges in
successive outbreaks of intellectual enthusiasm. It may be alleged
perhaps, by mathematicians, that Berkeley in these memoranda
contrasts with indivisibles only infinite divisibility, and not the
continuous flow which is at the bottom of Newton's theory of
Fluxions. He would probably have denied that an idea of con-
tinuity is possible. But we find no distinct allusion to Newton
and Fluxions till we advance pretty far into the Common-place
Book, where he returns to mathematics through optics. The re-
marks on optics are at first very elementary.

Berkeley's obvious inclination exclusively to the metaphysical
side of mathematics, in these juvenile speculations and after-
wards, probably indisposed him to a minute study of the details,
or even of the professed theory, of Fluxions and of the Calculus.
His own psychological theory of physical points {minima sensihilia)
must have obscured Newton's Fluxions, which rest on a doctrine
of continuity that is hard to reconcile with Berkeley's sensible indi-
visibles. Perhaps neither then nor afterwards did he sufficiently
appreciate the radical antagonism between Newton and himself in
their whole way of regarding sensible quantity. He looked at it,
so to speak, statically; Newton, dynamically. Besides this,
Newton, writing for practical purposes, leaves his own not very
lucid metaphysical theory in the background, which may in part
explain why Berkeley did not directly criticise, or even recognise
it. At any rate, determined by his abhorrence of scholastic ver-

II.] Trinity College, Dtiblin. 29

balism and empty abstractions, he rejects infinite divisibility, and
the whole mathematical doctrine of incommensurables, as ex-
pressive of nothing that can be resolved into idea of sense and
imagination.

In the memoranda which deal with Optics there seems to be a
mixture of the mathematical and physiological with the psycho-
logical. This shows that Berkeley was at that time only working
his way to the purely psychological method which at last formed
the one basis of his Neii: Theory of Vision. Internal consciousness of
what is experienced in the mental state of seeing^ as distinguished
both from physiological observation of the eye, and from mathe-
matical reckoning about lines and angles, was the field within
which he restricted himself at last.

The non-mathematical speculations, which' occupy by far the
larger portion of the Common-place Book, are mostly concerned
with Matter and its Qualities, Space and Time, Existence, Soul,
God, and Duty. The nature of visible extension, and its relations
to tangible extension are often remarked upon, with occasional
hesitation about details. But Berkeley's mind everywhere labours
under the inspiration of a new thought, with which it is evidently
charged, and the consciousness of which calls out ever and anon
the flash of philosophical enthusiasm. A new Principle is once
and again referred to as what his soul was labouring with ; and
this, notwithstanding the opposition and ridicule it and its
applications might occasion among impatient thinkers and the
thoughtless, he was resolved soon to discharge himself of through
the press, but in as conciliatory a way as he could — with some
politic art, in short.

Now what is this new Principle ? It dawns upon us in the
Common-place Book by degrees. When we compare one expression
of it with another, we find that it implies neither more nor less
than this: — a conception of the impossibility of anything existing
in the universe that is independent of perception and volition ; that
is not either percipient and voluntary, or perceived and willed.
This is Berkeley's dualism. He vacillates in the abstract ex-
pression of it, but it generally approaches this. All so-called
existence that cannot be resolved into this, is, he is beginning
to see, only 'abstract idea,' and therefore absurd— to be swept

30 Life and Lettei's of Berkeley. [ch.

away as sophistry and illusion. He is gradually discovering
that the pressure of this new Principle, in its various phases,
delivers Science from abstract or unperceived Matter (as dis-
tinguished from sensible things); from abstract or unperceived
Space (as distinguished from sensibly extended things); from
abstract or unperceived Time (as distinguished from perceived
changes); from abstract or unperceived Substance (as distinguished
from our personal consciousness); and from abstract or un-
perceived Cause (as distinguished from free voluntary agency).
It is the same Principle which in mathematics, with a dim con-
ception of it, he found to press hard against incommensurability
and infinite divisibility. At times he is in awe of its tremendous
consequences, and of the shock which these may occasion when
it is proclaimed to a learned world which had long tried to feed
itself upon abstractions. But he is resolved, nevertheless, to
employ it for purging science and sustaining faith.

Here, more intensely, but not more really, than in Berke-
ley's mathematical jottings, one feels the presence of the spirit
of scientific independence, the parent of all discovery, in which
only a few can sympathise, and which is ever in antagonism
to the unintelligent mediocrity, by which discovery has been
crushed or retarded. It was the same spirit as that which moved
Des Cartes, and Spinoza, and Locke, in the time preceding, or
Hume and Kant in time that followed, and which moves all who
leave their mark on the course of human thought.

A few examples of the philosophical remarks in the Com-
mon-place Book, taken from the chaos in which the reader
finds them there, and arranged in groups, may help to show the
state of Berkeley's mind about this time. The reader may
enlarge the size of each of the following groups, and add some
new ones, by a study of the Common-place Book itself, in
another part of this volume. There is a freshness in the very
immaturity of the thoughts. Here are some regarding the im-
portance of his new Principle : —

' The reverse of the Principle I take to have been the chief source
of all that scepticism and folly — all those contradictory and inex-
tricable puzzling absurdities, that have in all ages been a reproach
to human reason; as well as of the idolatry, whether of images

II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 31

or of God, that blind the greatest part of the world ; as well as of that

shameful immorality that turns us into beasts I know there is

a mighty sect of men will oppose me I am young, I am an

upstart, I am vain. Very well, I shall endeavour patiently to bear up
under the most lessening, viUfying appellations the pride and rage of
men can devise. But one thing I know I am not guilty of. I do not
pin my faith on the sleeve of any great man. I act not out of prejudice
or prepossession. I do not adhere to any opinion because it is an
old one, or a revived one, or a fashionable one, or one that I have spent

much time in the study and cultivation of If in some things

I differ from a philosopher I profess to admire, it is for that very thing
on account of which I admire him, namely, the love of truth.'

Then we have glimpses of the Principle itself, more distinct
as it takes fuller possession of him, while he revolves it in his
thoughts: —

' Mem. Diligently to set forth that many of the ancient philosophers
run into so great absurdities as to deny the existence of motion and
those other things they perceived actually by their senses. This sprung
from their not knowing what Existence was, or wherein it consisted.
This is the source of their folly. 'Tis on the discovery of the nature
and meaning and import of Existence that I chiefly insist. This puts
the wide difference betwixt the Sceptics and me. This I think wholly

new. I am sure this is new in me I take not away Substances.

I ought not to be accused of discarding Substance out of the reasonable
world. I only reject the philosophic sense, which is in effect nonsense,
of the word Substance. Ask a man, not tainted with their jargon, what
he means by corporeal Substance, or the Substance of body. He shall
answer — bulk, solidity, and suchlike sensible qualities. These I retain.
The philosophic nequid, Jiequanium, nequale, whereof I have no idea,
I discard — if a man may be said to discard that which never had any
being, was never so much as imagined or conceived. In short,' he adds,
(as it were in a soliloquy of agonised earnestness), 'be not angry. You lose
nothing, whether real or chimerical, whichever you in any wise conceive
or imagine, be it never so wild, so extravagant, so absurd. Much good
may it do you. I am more for reality than any other. Philosophers,
they make a thousand doubts, and know not certainly but we may be

deceived. I assert the direct contrary The philosophers talk

much of a distinction 'twixt absolute and relative things, and 'twixt things
considered in their own nature and the same things considered with

32 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

respect to us. I know not what -they mean by " things considered in

themselves." This is nonsense, jargon Thing and idea are

much-what words of the same extent and meaning. ... By idea I mean

any sensible or imaginable thing Time a sensation; therefore

only in the mind. . . . Extension a sensation; therefore only in the

mind A thing not perceived is a contradiction Existence

is not conceivable without perception or volition. . . . Let it not be said
that I take away existence. I only declare the meaning of the word,
so far as I can comprehend it. . . . What means cause, as distinguished
from occasion ? Nothing but a being which wills, when the effect follows

the volition There is nothing active but spirit. . . . Existence

is perceiving and willing, or being perceived and willed. Soul is

the will only, and is distinct from ideas Existence not

conceivable without perception or volition, not distinguishable there-
from. . . . Every idea has a cause, i. e. is produced by a will. . . . Say
you, there must be a thinking substance — something unknown, which
perceives, and supports, and ties together the ideas. Say I, INIake it
appear that there is any need of it, and you shall have it for me. I
care not to take away anything I can see the least reason to think should
exist.'

And so the Principle is turned round and round in Berkeley's
musings. He finds himself, under its pressure, resolving Sub-
stance and Cause, Space and Time, into modifications and rela-
tions of living perception^ and of what is sensibly perceived
by a living percipient ; or into the volitions of a conscious
agent, and into their sensible effects.

The Principle banishes scepticism, he thinks, because it means
that the real things themselves, and not their supposed effects, or the
representations (possibly fallacious) of an unperceived archetypal
Something, are what we are conscious or percipient of in the
senses : —

' Ideas of sense are the real things or archetypes. Ideas of imagina-
tion— dreams, &c., are copies, images of these. . . . Say Des Cartes and
Malebranche : God both gives us strong inclinations to think our ideas
proceed from bodies, and that bodies do exist. What mean they by
this ? Would they have it that the ideas of imagination are images of,
and proceed from, the ideas of sense ? This is true, but cannot be their
meaning ; for they speak of ideas of se7ise proceeding from, being Hke
unto — I know not what I am the farthest from scepticism of any

II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 33

man. I know with an intuitive knowledge the existence of other things
as well as my own soul. This is what Locke, nor scarce any other
thinking philosopher, will pretend to.'

The common supposition that we actually see things existing
without us in an ambient space is likely, Berkeley anticipates, to
be one great obstruction to an acceptance of the Principle. This
obstruction he encounters in these soliloquies, as one might call
them, in an endless variety of ways : —

' The common error of the opticians, that we judge of distance by
angles, strengthens men in their prejudice that they see things without,
and distant from, their mind. . . . Extension to exist in a thing void of

perception a contradiction Extension, though it exist only in the

mind, is yet no property of the mind; the mind can exist without it,
though it cannot without the mind. . . . Tangible and visible extension
heterogeneous, because they have no common measure, and also because
their simplest constituent parts are specifically different, i. e. ptmctuni
visibile and tangibile. . . . Extension seems to be perceived by the eye
as thought by the ear. ... I saw gladness in his looks ; I saw shame
in his face. So I see figure or distance.'

Then we have allusions to the theory that thought or meaning
pervades the whole sensible world, that an interpretable language
is given especially in all visible phenomena : —

' Were there but one and the same language in the world, and did
children speak it naturally as soon as born, and were it not in the power
of men to conceal their thoughts or deceive others, but that there were
an insuperable connexion between words and thoughts, Qu. Would not
men think that they heard thoughts as much as that they see extension?'

But the antithesis to the Principle, and in Berkeley's eye, the
great root of intellectual evil, is the phantom of Abstract Ideas.
In abstractions and their scholastic verbiage, all the absurdities
and contradictions which retard science and nourish scepticism
seemed to him to find cover.

' The chief thing I do, or pretend to do, is only to remove the mist or
veil of words. This has occasioned ignorance and confusion. This

VOL. IV. D

Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

has ruined the schoolmen and mathematicians, lawyers and divines. . . .
If men would lay aside words in thinking, 'tis impossible they should
ever mistake, save only in matters of fact.'

And then, in the more advanced parts, in reviewing what his
thoughts have led him to : — ■

' My speculations have the same effect as visiting foreign countries.
In the end I return where I was before ; yet my heart at ease, and en-
joying myself with more satisfaction. . . . The philosophers lose their
matter ; the mathematicians lose their insensible sensations ; the profane
lose their extended Deity. Pray what do the rest of mankind lose ? As
for bodies, we have them still. The future metaphysic and mathematic
gain vastly by the bargain. . . . The whole directed to practice and
morality, as appears — i. From making manifest the nearness and omni-
presence of God; 2. From cutting off the useless labour of sciences and
so forth.'

The Common-place Book, from which these examples are
arranged, is among the most interesting revelations which
philosophical biography affords of the rise of reflection in a
mind of extraordinary ingenuity and intrepidity. No candid
reader will forget that in these records of Berkeley's inner history,
at or about the age of twenty, we have the miscellaneous out-
pourings of an ardent youth, in rapid intellectual growth, placing
on paper, for the writer's own further consideration, the random
speculations of the hour, without a thought of their meeting the
public eye nearly a hundred and seventy years afterwards. That
this mathematical and philosophical Miscellany is in all its parts
consistent with itself, only vulgar ignorance could anticipate.
Those who at all understand the struggles of one young in years,
loving truth for its own sake, pregnant with a great thought by
which the whole of life and existence seem to be simplified, will
pardon some real, as well as some seeming, inconsistency in
casual memoranda of temporary results reached by the labouring
mind. We have the rudiments of the more orderly, if less fresh
and outspoken, revelation which was made through the press in
the years immediately following.

The Common-place Book helps us also to trace some of Berkeley's
reading in his early years at College. His central thought was
indeed essentially self-originated. There is internal evidence of

II.] Trinity College, Dublin, 35

this. But we also see that Locke was the prevailing external
influence in putting him, as it were, into position for reflection,
and that he proceeded in his intellectual work on the basis of
postulates which he partly borrowed from Locke, and partly as-
sumed in antagonism to him. In his early philosophy he was
Locke's successor, somewhat as Fichte was the successor of Kant.
In criticising the Essay on Human Understanding, he makes Locke
more consistent with himself, and occupies a position which is partly
the immediate consequence of the one his predecessor had taken.
That human knowledge may be analysed into ideas or personal
experiences of things, and that the secondary qualities of matter,
being relative or mutable, are only ideas or personal experiences,
was the position of Locke. That the primary as well as the
secondary qualities of Matter, together with Space and Time, all
in like manner relative and mutable, are sensations, or relations
of sensations; and that, thus. Matter, Time, and Space are
ideal or phenomenal in their very essence, was the first con-
clusion reached by Berkeley. He was feeling his way to it in
his Common-place Book, and treating Locke as a patron of
scholastic verbalism because he did not receive it.

Many other names as well as Locke's meet us in the Common-
place Book. Des Cartes, Malebranche, Hobbes, and Spinoza,
occur often ; Newton, Barrow, and Wallis, now and then ;
Leibnitz, Le Clerc, De Vries, Sergeant, Bayle, Molyneux, and
others, once or twice ; seldom the ancients or the schoolmen.

■ Berkeley's ardour and earnestness of purpose, joined to his
vivacious imagination, disposed him to become an author at an
early age, and to expose to the criticism of the world the con-
ception with which he was struggling in these early years at
Trinity College. He first appeared in print in a modest way,
a short time before he took his Master's degree. Early in 1 707,
two tracts— one an attempt to demonstrate arithmetic without
the help of Euclid or of algebra, and the other consisting of
thoughts on some questions in mathematics, both written in Latin,
and published at London — were attributed on the title-page to
a Bachelor of Arts in Trinity College, Dublin. Ever since, and
without dispute, they have been assigned to Berkeley, They are
contained in all the editions of his collected works. And this

D 2

36 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cir.

evidence is now confirmed by various coincidences and corre-
sponding passages in the Common-place Book.

One source of more than mathematical interest in these two
tracts is the illustration they give of Berkeley's constitutional
tendency to what is novel and eccentric — a tendency inseparable,
in some degree, from every genuine discoverer in science, but
which his characteristic impetuosity was sometimes apt to carry
to an extreme that frustrates discovery. They are interesting
too for the enthusiasm they show in mathematical studies,
and as an index of Berkeley's knowledge of that science when
he was not twenty years of age. Though published in 1707,
they were written, as the Preface informs us, nearly three years
before — perhaps at an early stage in his studies for a Fellowship.
The allusions to Bacon, Des Cartes, Malebranche, Locke, Newton,
Sir W. Temple, and the Philosophical Transactions, confirm what
we now know from other sources of the direction of his early
reading. The ArithmeUca is dedicated to William Palliser, and
the Miscellanea Mathematica to his young friend Samuel Molyneux,
the son of Locke's friend and disciple.

Three other years elapsed before Berkeley was prepared to
announce to the world the great thought with which we have
found him labouring for years. He presented it at first under
cover, in a one-sided way — unsatisfactory, even so far as it went.
The Essay towards a New Theory of Fision^ with Berkeley's name
on the title-page, appeared early in J 709. It was an attempt
towards the psychology of our sensations, but directed immediately
to the most comprehensive sense of all, and intended to eradicate
a deeply-rooted prejudice. If it halts in its metaphysics, and if
its physiology is defective, it proclaims in psychology what has
since been accepted as a great discovery, which involves subtle
applications of the laws of mental association in the formation
of habits.

The analytic parts of the Essay show the absolute hetero-
geneity of what we see and what we touch. The explanation
of the synthesis of these heterogeneous elements by means of
arbitrary association is its constructive part. In this analysis
and theory Berkeley is original in the rigour of his distinction

II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 37

between the seen and the felt, and also in the extent to which
he carries subjective and objective association as a solvent of
the unity which we make and find in individual stones, trees,
tables, and other sensible things. The book is much occupied
in illustrating the arbitrariness of association among percepts
in sight and touch. It is inferred from this arbitrariness that
these associations, commonly called laws of nature, are founded
in Supreme Will, and not in materialistic necessity. That the
various natural laws, of which physical science is the discovery,
are the sensible expression of an intending Will is its domi-
nant conception. Further, that sensible phenomena — those ele-
ments of which sensible things are the associated aggregates, and
of which we are assumed to be immediately percipient — may be
analysed into minima sensibilia^ which are connected into aggre-
gates, not by unperceived substances and causes, but in mind,
and by means of voluntary agency, is undoubtedly the philosophy
which underlies the Essay. A distinct expression of the philo-
sophy is needed, however, in order to make the Essay obviously
consistent with itself. Now, this implied philosophy is neither
more nor less than the new Principle already privately expressed
in the Common-place Book.

In the Essay of 1709, the Berkeleian Principle is applied to sight
but not to touch. Tangible phenomena are left in undisturbed
possession of a kind of reality that is inconsistent with it, while
visible phenomena are subjected to its sway. The reason for
this partial application of what, if applicable at all, was to
be universally applied, lay probably in Berkeley's unwillingness
to shock the world with a conception of its own existence
against which he anticipated a storm of opposition. Its actual
effect has been to expose the New Theory of Vision to criti-
cisms not in all cases undeserved. This reserve of a foregone
conclusion makes Berkeley's first essay on philosophy his least
artistic. Its main conclusion cannot be fully comprehended
without the New Principle, and yet the New Principle is held in
reserve. Hence the acute reasoning is apt to lose itself in a
chaos of details, unrelieved by the ultimate constructive thought
required to form them into a philosophy.

The question of the Essay comes to this : — What is really meant
by our seeing things in ambient space ? Berkeley's answer, when

9 ^

O _L u^ J :3

38 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

developed, may be put thus:— What, before we reflected, we
had supposed to be a seeing of real things, is not seeing really
extended things at all, but only seeing something that is con-
stantly connected with their extension: what is vulgarly called
seeing them is in fact reading about them : when we are every
day using our eyes, we are virtually interpreting a book : when
by sight we are determining for ourselves the actual distances,
sizes, shapes, and situations of things, we are simply translating
the words of the Universal and Divine Language of the Senses.

It is of course difficult fully and constantly to realise this, to
dissolve the prejudice which obscured it, and to distinguish what
we see from the meaning of what we see. But then this difficulty
is not peculiar, Berkeley would say, to the visual, or to any other
sensible language. It is common to the language of nature with
all artificial languages. For instance, it is not found easy to
read an intelligible and interesting sentence in a book, in tl^e
state of mental vacancy one is in when one reads a sentence in
an unknown language. Yet the connection between visible or
audible signs, and their meanings, in any artificial language, is
not a constant and universal association. There are hundreds of
artificial languages in the world. There is only one visual or
natural language. We find it difficult to disentangle the mere
signs from their meanings in any of the artificial languages we
are acquainted with. We may therefore expect it to be impos-
sible (as we find it to be) to separate a visual sign from the
signification which universal experience and habit have wrapped
up in it. Berkeley's "Essay invites us to recognise the differ-
ence between the visual sign and its meaning, even when we
cannot actually make a separation between them in imagina-
tion. It sets before us the visible signs on the one hand,
and their meanings on the other. Throughout it is an appeal
to reflection and mental experiment. Varieties of colour or
coloured extension are the only proper objects of sight. Nothing
else can be seen. Now extended colours, together with certain
muscular affections in the eye, are, under the arbitrarily estab-
lished system of nature, the signs of varieties of felt extension.
That is to say, they are signs of what are usually called the real
distances, sizes, shapes, and situations of things. Now, our visual
experience of quantities and qualities of colour, and of the

II.] Trmity College, Dublin. 39

organic sensations in the eye, is what enables us to foresee, with
more or less accuracy, what our experience in feeling and in
moving our bodies is to be in any particular case. Real dis-
tance from the eye outwards, as well as real size, shape,
and situation, are absolutely invisible : we can see their signs
only.

All this, according to Berkeley, may be proved intuitively to
those who take the trouble to reflect. He announced the dis-
covery as one founded on a strict analysis of the facts, the whole
facts, and nothing but the facts to which we are conscious in our
sense perceptions. The only difficulties he could find connected with
it were, the difficulty of separating what invariable experience has
united in our thoughts, and the difficulty of finding artificial lan-
guage pure and precise enough to express his meaning. Till we
have apprehended this analysis by reflection, however, we have not
learned our first lesson in the psychology of the senses. When
we have done so, he is ready with a theory which treats vision
as a Divine Book that contains more surprising and profound
lessons than any human book can contain. When we seem to
be seeing, we are really reading an illuminated Book of God,
which, in literal truth, is a Book of Prophecy.

This, I think, is the outcome of this juvenile Essay. But
its want of artistic unity and completeness, and its dispro-
portioned digressions and applications — resulting partly from
Berkeley's inexperience as an author, and partly from the cir-
cumstance that the Theory is sustained by a Principle in the
expression of which the author is, I think, restraining himself —
make this psychological Essay, in its actual form, an inconvenient
introduction to the metaphysical philosophy, for one who is
ignorant of Berkeley's great central thought.

It is not here that any critical observations should be oflfered
upon the Theory of Vision, which indeed in 1709 was only partly
developed by Berkeley. One is here looking at this and his other
early writings, only as an unfolding of his intellectual life, in
modes which must be understood before its ulterior evolutions can
be well comprehended by the analyst of his intellectual character.
I have tried elsewhere, in prefatory observations and subse-
quent annotations, to explain the logical structure of the Essay
on Vision. The reader will find that a great part of it is taken

40 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [en.

up in determining what are the true visible and felt signs of the
real distances, signs, and situations of things, in contrast to
so-called « sights' which are not seen at all, but are merely
'suggestions' occasioned by what is visible.

That the Essay towards a New Theory of Vision attracted some
attention on its appearance, we may infer from its reaching a
second edition before the end of the year. With this pioneer in
1709, Berkeley, in 17 10, in a Treatise concerning the Trinciples of
Human Knowledge^ boldly announced the great conception of which
for years he had been full.

This book is a systematic assault upon scholastic abstrac-
tions, especially upon abstract or unperceived Matter, Space, and
Time. It assumes that these are the main cause of confusion
and difficulty in the sciences, and of materialistic Atheism.
The new Principle, in its various phases and applications, is
offered as the eff^ectual means of cleansing the human mind
from these abstractions. He finds philosophers all taking for
granted the existence of a dead, unperceived, and unimagin-
able Something, of indefinite power and capability. They had
concealed the intrinsic absurdity of the supposition, by calling
its object an abstract idea— something that, as an 'idea,' must
be knowable in sense and imagination- but that, as 'abstract,'
could only be known with difficulty. Accordingly, as it was
with abstract ideas that philosophy was held to be concerned,
philosophers invented a number of abstract words, and these words
got into general circulation. Then, to this unknown Something,
under the name of Matter, they attributed indefinite powers,
and under cover of its powers, some of them pretended to explain
the human mind, and supposed that all the conscious life in the
universe might be accounted for by the dark abstraction. Thus,
under the abstractions of Space, Time, and Number, the mathe-
maticians, he thought, had lost themselves in doctrines about
infinite divisibility, and other forms of words without meaning.
Locke's imperfect reformation from Scholasticism, as Berkeley
regarded it, added the sanction even of modern philosophy
to the hypothesis that unperceived Matter is the cause of our
perceptions. He complains, accordingly, that Locke sanctions
abstract ideas ; that he recognises substance, or, as we might

II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 41

say, the thing-in-itself ; and that he distinguishes this from
the perceived things which alone we see and touch. With
Locke, as with philosophers generally, the thing-in-itself
was the real thing : what we see and touch only an ideal
substitute for the real thing. The reality, he tells us, we can
never reach.

Reason itself, Berkeley now proclaims, is at war with these
assumptions. They are empty words. Reason requires us to
return to what is concrete and to abide there. Beyond this we
can find nothing, because beyond this nothing exists. All that
exists, or can exist, is the mental experience of persons. It must
consist of living persons, the ideas or phenomena of which they
are conscious^ the voluntary activity which they exercise, and the
effects of that activity. The actual universe must be made up
of that. Human knowledge of the actual universe is all at last
resolved into that. Whatever is not so resolvable, must be an
abstraction, and therefore a delusion. The common convic-
tion of scientific, and also of unscientific, men about the need
for causes, and for an ultimate cause, of all actual changes in
the world are acknowledged by Berkeley as they were before.
But he asks us to reflect that the universe, regarded as a con-
geries of effects, and in its ultimate cause, consists, and can consist
only of living persons, the ideas or phenomena which they have,
and the voluntary activity which they exercise. It follows that the
universally acknowledged ultimate cause cannot be the empty
abstraction called Matter. There must be living mind at the root
of things. Mind must be the very substance and consistence and
cause of whatever is. In recognising this wondrous Principle, life
is simplified to him; light finds its way into the darkest corner.
The sciences are relieved from the abstractions which choked them.
Religious faith in Universal Mind becomes the highest expression
of reflective reason. This supreme Principle virtually becomes
Berkeley's Method of Thought. His first step in philosophy is
to form the habit of thinking the universe under its regulation.

But how do we know that it is true ? This, Berkeley plainly
supposes, is not so much to be argued from premisses as accepted
through inspiration — through its own intuitive light. 'Some truths
there are so near and obvious to the mind,' he says, 'that a man
need only open his eyes to see them.' 'Such,' he adds, 'I take this

42 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cn.

important one to be — that all the choir of heaven and furniture
of the earth, in a word, all those bodies which compose the
mighty frame of the world, have not any subsistence without
a mind • that their esse is to be perceived or known ; that, con-
sequently, so long as they are not actually perceived by me, or
do not exist in my mind, or that of any other created spirit,
they must either have no existence at all, or else subsist in the
mind of some Eternal Spirit; it being perfectly unintelligible,
and involving all the mystery of abstraction, to attribute to
any single part of them an existence independent of a spirit.'
That the universe must be the personal experience of living
mind is thus proclaimed with all the light and evidence of an
axiom.

That the actual phenomena, or ideas (as Berkeley calls them) of
which the external universe consists are all determined in their
co-existences and successions by more or less reasonable volitions ;
that voluntary activity is the only possible cause of whatever
happens ; and that the ideal world present in our senses cannot
itself contain power or causality, is a phase of the Principle which
is less clearly dealt with by him than the former. It, too, seems,
like the other, to be accepted as an intuition of reason, which,
on reflection, flashes upon us by inspiration. But here Berkeley
avoids an exact statement.

The reader who wants to watch the young Fellow of Trinity
College defending and applying his new conception in the presence
of the public must study the Principles. It would be difficult to
name a book in ancient or modern philosophy which contains
more fervid and ingenious reasoning than is here employed to
meet supposed objections, or to unfold possible applications to
religion and science. An eager spirit glows beneath the calm
surface, hardly restrained from undue expression.

The book of Principles published in 1710 is called 'Part I;'
'Part II' never appeared. We can only conjecture what the
unfinished design was. Neither the book itself, nor any of Berke-
ley's other writings informs us. As 'Part I' was dropped from
the title-page and the running titles in the later editions, it
appears that the design, at least in this form, was abandoned.

There is, however, philosophical room for a Second Part,
Berkeley's book, as we now have it, unfolds his central thought

II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 43

in its applications to what he calls ideas — in short, to sensible
things. But the theory of mind and its notions — concerned with
sensible things, yet distinguished from them — is not made so
distinct : it has hardly been expressed, and it is certainly not
worked out. Finite minds, and their personal identity; their
relations to one another, and to Supreme Mind in which they
seem to participate ; the notions of pure intellect — as distin-
guished from the original ideas of sense, and the subjective ideas
of imagination — are left unexamined. Berkeley's whole doctrine
of abstraction, and of the distinction between notions and ideas,
is, in 1 7 10, left in an unsatisfactory state. Whether there are
uncreated necessities of thinking, according to which all mental
experience of ideas must evolve itself in every mind, is a ques-
tion hardly entertained. That the universe must be substantiated
and caused, that cause and substance are relations of knowledge
for all minds, and that to say 'all changes must be caused,' is
one way of saying that all changes must, by an absolute, uncreated
necessity, be referred to an intending Will, are assumptions which
perhaps Berkeley virtually makes, but without criticism, or the
scientific insight which criticism gives. That Space and Time
may also be uncreated necessities of sense perception he does
not contemplate, for he reduces Space to arbitrary relations
of our visual and tactual sensations, and he makes Time (about
which his thoughts were first of all employed, he afterwards
says) literally consist in changes. He does not inquire critically
whether all sensible phenomena must not, by an uncreated ne-
cessity, emerge as it were in the form of extended things, and
whether all changes must not by a like necessity emerge in the
form of successive events.

But it is not fair to apply thought and language which Europe
in the nineteenth century owes to Kant, to the state of mind in
which Berkeley was in 17 10.

And after all deduction has been made, the Principles of Human
Knowledge anticipate later thoughts, found in Hume, or in the
Scotch and German reaction against him. Berkeley's theory of
physical causation anticipates Hume, while it consummates Bacon,
and opens the way to the true conception of physical induction.
In his account of sense perception, he anticipates the spirit of
the presentative psychology of Reid and Hamilton. And in his,

Life and Letters of Berkeley.

[CH.

new central conception itself, he more than anticipates the Coper-
nican point of view of Kant. But in 1710, the book was too
far in advance of an unmetaphysical generation to draw general
attention ^^

We have no data for determining how long Berkeley was
engaged in preparing his psychological Bssay on Vision^ and his
metaphysical book of Principles. His Common-place Book is a
sort of magazine of the thought which was gradually worked into
the two. This Book, and the manuscript of portions of the Prin-
ciples^ which I have given in another volume, show successive
variations of phrase through which his thought passed before it
was given to the printer. The date written on the margin of the
rough draft of the Introduction to the Principles^ seems to imply
that he was working at this in November 1708. Fragments in
the Common-place Book were no doubt written years before.

^1 Yet we have dim anticipations both of
Berkeley and of Kant — rather of Xant than of
Berkeley, whose new conception is missed — -
in a hardly remembered work, An E^say upon
Reason, and the Nature of Spirits, by Richard
Burthogge, M.D., London, 1694. The de-
sign of this work, announced in the Dedica-
tion ' to Mr. John Lock, author of the Essay
upon Humane Understanding,' is ' to show
the true way of Human Knowledge, and, by
showing that it is real notional, to unite and
reconcile the experimental or mechanical
with the scholastic method.' The union of
objects and universals is implied when it is
said (pp. 561, &c.) that ' in every conception
there is something that is purely objective,
purely notional; insomuch that few, if any, of
the ideas which we have of things are properly
pictures; our conceptions of things no more
resembling them in strict propriety than our
words do our conceptions for which they do
stand, and with which they have a kind of
correspondence and answering ; just as figures
do stand for numbers, yet are nowise like

them As the eye has no perceivance

of things but under colours that are not in
them (and the same, with due alteration,
must be said of the other senses^ so the
understanding apprehends not things, or any
habitudes or aspects of them, but under cer-
tain notions, that neither have their being
in objects, or that being of objects that they

seem to have ; but are in all respects the
very same to the mind or understanding
that colours are to the eye .... It is
certain that things to us men are nothing
but as they do stand in our analogy; that is,
in plain terms, they are nothing to us, but
as they are known to us ; and as certain,
that they stand not in our analogy, nor are
known by us, but as they are in our facul-
ties— in our senses, imagination, or mind ;
and they are not in our faculties, either in
their own reality, or by way of a true re-
semblance or representation, but only in
respect of certain appearances or sentiments,
which, by the various impressions that they
make upon us, or cause, or (which is most
probable) concur in causing with our facul-
ties. Every cogitative faculty, though it
is not the sole cause of its own immediate
(apparent) object, yet has a share in making

it In sum, the immediate objects of

cogitation, as it is exercised by men, are
entia cogitationis, all phenomena ; appear-
ances that do no more exist without our
faculties in the things themselves than the
images that are seen in water, or behind a
glass, do really exist in those places where

they seem to be In truth, neither

accident nor substance hath any being but
only in the mind, and by the virtue of
cogitation or thought.' See Chap. III. V.

11.] Trinity College, Dtiblin. 45

The design of the Principles and the 'Essay ^ either as parts of one
and the same work, or as separate treatises, was probably in his
mind when he obtained his Fellowship in 1707.

Berkeley's leading thought and method were published when he
was young. Some of his philosophical predecessors and successors
resemble him in this, but none to the same degree. Des Cartes pro-
duced his great philosophical writings soon after he was forty. Spi-
noza announced his philosophy still earlier, and died soon after he
was forty. Hume's greatest work of speculation appeared when he
was twenty-seven. Berkeley offered his philosophy at an earlier age
than any of these. In fact, his is the most extraordinary instance
of original reflective precocity on record. Locke, in contrast with
this, was hardly known as an author till he was almost sixty, and
Kant was about the same age when he published the first of the
three great critical works which contain his philosophy. The
qualities of the precocious philosophers are obviously different from
those of the others. If ardent precocity has succeeded in burning
its way more into the heart of things, the more tardy, phlegmatic,
and sober are usually more attentive in their reasonings to the
limitations and compromises of our human condition.

Berkeley's book o^ Principles was a sort of challenge to the philo-
sophical world. Dublin contained few who were likely to listen
to it. The austere theological philosopher who had governed
Trinity College, was translated to the diocese of Cork and Ross
about the very time the book appeared. If he read it he was not
converted by it. The judicious philosophical divine who was then
Archbishop of Dublin was not likely to adopt the paradoxically
expressed and revolutionary conception of a Junior Fellow. Ber-
keley's ardour as a discoverer made him anxious to gain a hearing.
Not satisfied with the provincial audience of Ireland, he courted
the opinion of the great men in London. He sent copies of his
new book to Samuel Clarke, the most eminent contemporary
philosophical theologian, and to Whiston, the friend of Newton,
who then occupied Newton's chair at Cambridge. Whiston has
fortunately commemorated the circumstance in his Memoirs of
Clarke. ^ Mr. Berkeley,' he says, ' published, in 1710, at Dublin,
this metaphysick notion — that Matter was not a real thing ; nay.

46 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

that the common opinion of its reality was groundless, if not
ridiculous. He was pleased to send Dr. Clarke and myself each
of us a book. After we had both perused it, I went to Dr. Clarke,
and discoursed with him about it to this efFect : That I [being
not a metaphysician] was not able to answer Mr, Berkeley's
[subtle] premises, though I did not believe his [absurd] conclusion.
I therefore desired that he, who was deep in such subtleties, but
did not appear to believe Mr. Berkeley's conclusion, would answer
him. Which task he declined.' (p. 133.)

The challenge of the young Dublin philosopher was not ac-
cepted. The mathematical Whiston treated it as a mere
mathematician might be expected to do, except that he had
more candour than most of his class, in supposing that it de-
served an answer, and more modesty in seeing that he could
not answer it himself. What Clarke's answer, if he sent one to
Berkeley, might have been, we may suppose from the only rele-
vant passage in his writings. Seven years later, in his Remarks
on Collins on Human Liherty, Clarke writes thus, and we may
take what he writes as the substitute for a lost letter to Berkeley
in acknowledgment of his book : — ' The case [the fact of free
agency] is exactly the same as in that notable question. Whe-
ther the World exists or no. There is no demonstration of
it from experience. There always remains a bare possibility
that the Supreme Being may have so framed my mind, as
that I shall always be necessarily deceived in every one of my
perceptions, as in a dream, though possibly there be no mate-
rial world, nor any other creature existing, besides myself. Of
this I say there always remains a bare possibility. And yet no
man in his senses argues from thence, that experience is no proof
to us of the existence of things The bare physical possi-
bility of our being so framed by the Author of nature, as to be
unavoidably deceived in this matter by every experience of every
action we perform, is no more any just ground to doubt the truth
of our Liberty, than the bare natural possibility of our being all
our lifetime as in a dream deceived in our belief of the existence
of the Material World is any just ground to doubt of the reality of
its existence.' [Remarks^ pp. 20, 34.)

In short, the principle which Berkeley had applied to illustrate
how immediate our knowledge of sensible things is, and the impos-

II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 47

sibility of scepticism about them, was construed by Clarke into a
dogmatic assumption that our whole experience in the senses
is a lie. The New Principle had a sorry prospect in that
eighteenth century, when its application to the material world
was thus reversed at the outset by the most metaphysical English
author of the time. Whether Malebranche, the great contemporary
French metaphysician, also received ' a book' we are not informed.
If Clarke's deification of space in his famous work of metaphysical
theology was a bar to his candid entertainment of the conception
that space is only a part of the sensible creation of God, we could
hardly expect the aged French philosopher to surrender the reasonings
of a life in behalf of an unperceived external world, or to forego
his resolution of all power — human as well as physical — into
Divine, on the suggestion of a juvenile essay which accepted
the existence of sensible things without proof^ by simply explain-
ing what their existence means, and in which the free agency of
men was a fundamental principle.

The year in which the Essay on Vision was published was the year
in which its author first appeared in a new character. On the
ist of February, 1709, Berkeley received ordination as Deacon in
the old chapel of Trinity College. He was ordained by Dr. St.
George Ashe, Bishop of Clogher, of whom we shall hear again.
He was presented by Nicholas Forster, a Senior Fellow (after-
wards Bishop of Raphoe, and the uncle as it happened of his future
wife), who vouched for his learning and good character. Six other
candidates were ordained on the same Sunday.

I have not discovered when or where Berkeley received Priest's
orders. As there is no record of this in Dublin, it may be sup-
posed that it was not within that province.

We have no account of what his thoughts were in becoming
an official teacher of religion. It would be interesting to discover
them. Unobtrusive practical piety is apparent- throughout his life,
and few in the annals of the Christian ministry have preserved
themselves freer from ecclesiastical and professional bias, or have
more successfully maintained, among many temptations, the love
of truth as a ' chief passion' from the beginning to the end of this
mortal life. The Christian ministry, ancient, mediaeval, and

48 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

modern, has engaged more than one of those who rank in the
bright chapters of the history of philosophy — with whom theology
is the highest form of philosophy, and the reverential spirit of
religion its noblest consecration. We have Origen and St. Augustin,
Abelard and Aquinas, according to the light of their own times;
Malebranche and Fenelon, Cudworth and Berkeley in the full tide
of modern life. The last is perhaps the most distinct example.

Berkeley's ecclesiastical service about this time was confined
to an occasional sermon in the College Chapel. He seems
to have delivered there what is called a common-place more
than once even before he was ordained, a custom permitted
in that University. As a preacher his discourses were care-
fully reasoned, and in beautifully simple language they occa-
sionally present great thoughts, without any marked theological
bias.

Three characteristic common-places, delivered probably in 171 1,
and published in the following year, as a Discourse of Passive Olpedience^
constitute something to our knowledge of the history of Berkeley's
mind. This tract is a closely argued defence of the Christian
duty of not resisting the supreme civil power, wherever placed
in a nation. We have found Berkeley working as a reflective
analyst of human knowledge, with a view to its purification, and to
its being re-animated with religious trust and reverence. We now
see him as a Christian teacher of political morals, working out
logically his own notion of the constructive or conservative prin-
ciple in society. The fervid consecutiveness which in the Vrm-
ciples of Human Knowledge applied Berkeley's conception of what
external Existence means, is here not less conspicuous in
unfolding his conception of the basis of Society, and of our
duty as members of a social organism. Locke's two treatises on
Government turned his attention to the subject, in its connection
with the general principles of morals, which his Common-place
Book shows that he had long been ruminating.

In this Discourse^ Berkeley is a philosophical advocate of high
Tory principles. In the supreme civil power he sees more
than the mere creature of popular desires: it is not the result
of an arbitrary compact among the governed. There is some-
thing deeper and truer than this unhistorical fiction in the

II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 49

heart of every Nation. There is a law of order and justice,
which originates in the conception of the happiness of the living
persons who constitute the universe, and belongs to the uncreated
constitution of the Supreme^ while it is shared by his creatures.
This conception, thus derived, forms with him the principle
of moral obligation. Our obligations in particular cases are
discovered by an induction of the tendencies of actions to pro-
mote the general welfare of men; and, among the general rules
so established, non-resistance to the ultimate depository of civil
authority is, he argues, one of the chief. The fluctuating
popular desire is not that depository ; nor is it necessarily to be
found in the claims of an arbitrary monarch. The particular
nature of the government and constitution in each nation is
foreign to his inquiry. The thought which runs through his
words is, that the supreme power in every society lies deeper
than these accidents, and is something before which people and
king alike should pause reverentially: it is the ordinance of
God : Government is of divine right.

If the intellectual philosophy of Berkeley when he was at Trinity
College was a Theological Sensationalism, his moral and social phi-
losophy was a Theological Utilitarianism — each in curious analogy
with the other, and both the expressions of the same deeply religious
spirit. The Discourse on Passive Obedience leaves room for plenty of
casuistry about individual duty in revolutionary times. But it
illustrates Berkeley's inclination to determine questions on broad
grounds of reason and conscience, and not by local and ephemeral
considerations. It points to a philosophical field above Toryism
and Liberalism, where those superior to party on either side may
meet. And it suggests one of Berkeley's own latest thoughts —
' Whatever the world thinks, he who hath not much meditated
upon God, the human mind, and the summum honum^ may possibly
make a thriving earthworm, but will most indubitably make a
sorry patriot and a sorry statesman ^^.'

These common-places on political morality gave rise to a
notion that Berkeley was in the interest of the exiled Stuart
family. Non-resistance and passive obedience were then asso-
ciated with Jacobitism, and supported in Queen Anne's reign in
Nonjurist tracts and pamphlets. Two years before he delivered

'^ Siris, sect. 350.
VOL. IV. E

Life and Letters of Berkeley,

[CH.

his common-places in the College Chapel at Dublin, Sacheverell
had preached his notorious sermons at Derby and in St. Paul's.
Sacheverell's trial had raised a hot controversy and turned out
a Whig ministry. It is not very surprising that the Dublin sermons
should in these circumstances have given rise to suspicion. The
'false accounts that were gone abroad' regarding their meaning
were mentioned by him as a reason for publishing the Discourse.
The publication does not seem to have put an end to the rumours.
Years afterwards his political opinions were referred to by Lord
Gal way as an objection to his claim for ecclesiastical promotion,
and the sermons on Passive Obedience were vaguely mentioned
in confirmation. But Berkeley could not be a mere party politician,
and his loyalty to the House of Hanover was attested by Samuel
Molyneux, who is said to have first introduced him to the Princess
of Wales, and to have produced the Discourse^ as a proof that its
author taught nothing disloyal. It kept him, however, for a while
in the shade i^.

^^ The Berkeley Papers contain what seems
to be a draft or sketch of a letter written bv
Berkeley to a friend. It is entitled Thoughts
on Alliances in War. Its tone is not that
of the Jacobite party, about this time, on the
subject of which it treats ; and while its poli-
tical morality is lofty, its diplomatic tact is
deficient. It does not appear who the friend
was for whom it was intended. It seems to
have been ■niitten, however, about 1712.
It refers to the ' Union with Hanover ' as
future ; and the question with which it deals
was one discussed in the years which pre-
ceded the Peace of Utrecht. The following
are some passages : —
'Sir,
I do not wonder that you or any true
Englishman should be no less jealous for the
honour than for the safety of his country,
and offended at anything which has the face
of baseness or treachery, however advan-
tageous it may be thought to the Public;
nor, by consequence, that you should scru-
pulously inquire into the justice of a separate
Peace, as being apprehensive the necessity of
our affairs, together with the backwardness
of the allies, may oblige our Ministry to
enter upon some such measures. . .

[Berkeley then, after deprecating the
task of giving an opinion on a subject he is
not acquainted with, and saying that he feels

himself obliged to comply with the com-
mands of his friend *, adds that he will give
all the satisfaction he is able by laying down
some general theorems and reasonings upon
the sacredness of Treaties and Alliances, and
considering when, or on what accounts they
may be broken without guilt.] . . .

I lay it down in the first place for a funda-
mental axiom, that no Law of . . . ought
to be violated either for the obtaining any
advantage or [escaping any] inconvenience
whatever. . . .

From these principles it clearly follows
that Public Faith ought not to be sacrificed
to private regards, nor even to the most
pressing wants of a whole People. The
violation therefore of a compact with foreign
nations can never be justified on any pretext
of that kind. Hence one nation having
solemnly entered into articles of alliance
with another, in case they afterwards per-
ceive it highly for their advantage to break
these articles ; yet a breach upon that score
must certainly be looked upon as unjust and
dishonourable. Nor doth it alter the case
that the Alliance having been made under a
former Ministry is disliked and condemned
by the succeeding. For though the admini-
stration of affairs pass through several hands,
yet the Prinre and the nation continue still
the same ; every Ministry therefore is in duty

He says this friend had an exact knowledge of our engagements and interests. He was
therefore probably connected with the Ministrv.

11.]

Trinity College, Dublin.

After this publication, Berkeley again becomes almost invisible
for a time. He had been nominated a Sub-Lecturer in 1710^^, and
was elected Junior Dean in November of that year, and again in

bound to preserve sacred and entire the faith
and honour of their Prince and country by
standing firm to all alliances contracted
under former Ministries. But with this dif-
ference, that in case the evils attending such
an alliance shall appear to be fortuitous, or
such as, at the making of it, could not have
been foreseen, then the conditions of that
disadvantageous alliance ought to be fulfilled
at the public charge ; whereas if the Treaty
shall appear originally and in itself preju-
dicial to the Public, then the fortunes of
those ministers who made it ought to go to-
wards defraying the expenses which, through
rashness or treachery, they had engaged
their country in.

Hitherto I have proceeded on the sup-
position that the foundations of the Alliance
were just, or included nothing contrary to
the laws of Nature and Religion. But in
case several States enter into an agreement
for commencing and carrying on war upon
unjust motives, no sooner shall any of those
States be satisfied of the injustice of the
cause on which the alliance is grounded, but
they may with honour look upon themselves
as disengaged from it. For example, sup-
pose a parcel of Popish Potentates shou'd,
out of a pretence of doing right to the Pre-
tender, engage in a war for placing him on
the throne of Great Britain, and some one
of them was afterwards convinced. . . .
[Here the MS. is defective and almost
illegible.]

It is also to be esteemed an unwarrantable
procedure in case divers Potentates enter
iiito a confederate war against an adjacent
S'.ate for no other reason but because they
apprehended it may otherwise become too
powerful, and consequently too formidable a
neighbour. For examp'e, suppose the Dutch,
jealous of that accession of strength to the
British nation which will follow upon its
union with Hanover, should engage them-
selves or friends in a war in order to force
us to alter our Succession ; we would, I pre-
sume, think this unlawful, and that it was
the duty of any one of the confederates, so
soon as he became sensible of the injusiice of
his cause, to cease from all hostilities, and
(in case his allies were for continuing them)
to enter into a separate peace with us. The
truth of these positions is plain from the two
principles at first laid down.

Further, it cannot be denied that one
party may, without consent of the rest,

break off from an alliance in war originally
founded on honourable motives, upon con-
viction that the ends for which the war was
begun are sufficiently answered ; although
his allies, whether blinded by passion or find-
ing their advantage in carrying on the war,
should not concur with him in the same
judgment. For it is no e:icuse for a man's
acting against his conscience that he made a
bargain to do so. You'll demand what must
be thought in case it was a fundamental article
of the alliance, that no one party should
hearken to proposals of peace without con-
sent of the rest. I answer that any such
engagement is in itself absolutely void, for-
asmuch as it is sinful, and what no Prince or
State can lawfully enter into, it being in
effect no less than binding themselves to the
commission of murder, rapine, sacrilege, and
of violence, so long as it shall seem good to
. . . what else I beseech you is war ab-
stracted from the necessity . . . but a com-
plication of all these ' [MS. defective.]

In a P.S. Berkeley adds — ' Another indis-
putable case there is which absolves a party
from fulfilling the conditions of any contract,
namely, when those with whom the con-
tract was made fail to perform their part of
it. Lastly, in case two or more States, for
their mutual security, enter into a league to
deprive a neighbouring Prince of some part
of his possessions and add them unto those
of another in order to constitute a ballance
of Power. Allowing the grounds whereon
the war is founded to be just, yet if, during
the progress of the war, the Prince whose
territories were to be enlarged shall by some
unexpected turn, grow far more great and
powerful than he was at the making of the
treaty, it should seem the afforesaid States
are disengaged from their contract to each
other, which, having been originally by all
parties introduced and understood only as a
means to obtain a ballance of Power, can
never be of force to oblige them to act for
a direct contrary purpose.'

" Berkeley's nmie is last on the list of
those nominated Sub-Lecturers, from which
we may infer that he had to lecture the
First Class, now called ' Junior Freshmen.'
A principal part of his duty would be
to expound Porphyry's Introduction, and to
examine Students on the text, as well as to
lecture his own pupils privately. The duties
of Sub-Lecturers and Tutors were defined
by Statute.

E 2

52 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

November 171 1. Though all who have written about him seem
unaware of it, he visited England in 1712, apparently for the first
time. The College Registry records that in March of that year
' Mr. Berkeley's health and necessary business requiring his longer
stay in England, the Vice-Provost and Fellows have thought fit to
continue his leave of absence for two months longer.' In May,
*■ Mr. Berkeley being still in England for the recovery of his health,
his leave of absence is continued.' He must have returned before
winter, for in November he was elected Junior Greek Lecturer,
and the entries show that he borrowed a book from the Library ^^
in December ^^

Berkeley was a Tutor in Trinity College from 1707 to 1724,
though only nominally after 1711 or 1712. According to Stock,
Samuel Molyneux was one of his pupils. That this youth, who
took his Bachelor's Degree in 1708, was one of his intimates, is
proved by the Dedication of the Miscellanea Mathematica. But I
do not find in the College Records that he was a pupil of
Berkeley's, who seems to have had only five pupils while he was
Tutor — three Fellow Commoners and two Sizars ^'^. Their names,
with the dates of their entrance, are as follows: — Nov. 17, 1709,
Thomas Bligh, F.C. ; May 29, 1710, David Bosquet, Siz. ; Jan. 18,

17 1 1, Arthur Dawson, F.C. ; June 29, 1711, Michael Tisdal, F.C. ;
June 14, 1 7 14, Michael Wall, Siz. None of these names are
known to fame, nor can we tell how Bligh and Bosquet, Dawson
and Tisdal, long since forgotten, were affected by daily inter-
course with one who was then producing thoughts which have
since determined the course of European speculation.

In 1 71 2, Berkeley had been for five years a Junior Fellow and

'^ It is interesting to note the names of 1 71 2, Dec. Vossius, Be Historicis Lattnis.
books borrowed by Berkeley from the Li- >" He is marked ' non-co.' on the Buttery

brary in these years, recorded in the Loan Books from 1711 to 1721. This mark is

Book : — not absolute proof of absence, for in those

1 707 A Treatise on Human Reason. days the Provost sometimes exerted his pre-

1709 Grotius, De Jure Belli et Pacts. rogative of giving Junior Fellows and

171 2, Jan. Philip de Comines. Scholars the money compensation for their

Elemens de Ma/hematique. commons, even when they were resident in

Quinctilian. College. But it is singular that Berkeley

Hebrew Bible. should have been elected Junior Dean, when

Cartesii Geometria. so marked, because a part of the Dean's
Ludovici Grammatici Condones. duty is to dine in Hall.

.ffischines, &c., Latine. i'' The Sizars were at that time nominated

Barrow's Serrnons. by the Tutors. The last entry is no proof

Hebrew Bible, Tom. III. that Berkeley was resident in College in

.^schines, &c., trationes. •714-

"■]

Trinity College, Dublin,

Tutor, besides holding, during part of that time, the offices of
Sub-Lecturer, Junior Greek Lecturer, and Junior Dean. His con-
sequent duties were considerable, and besides, he occasionally
officiated in the College Chapel. His academical emoluments,
nominally small, are not to be measured by the present value of
money. The salary of a Junior Fellow was then ten pounds, and
of a Junior Dean eight pounds. As Sub-Lecturer he had eight
pounds more. But, including his fees as Tutor, his emoluments
probably did not exceed forty pounds a~year, a sum which may
be translated into perhaps a hundred and forty when estimated
by our standard. His private resources were, 1 should think,
scanty, and his philosophical publications cannot have added much
to them ^^.

Some of Berkeley's time in 171 2 was given, we may surmise, to
preparing the beautiful Dialogues in which, in the following year,
he sought to recommend his new conception of sensible things
to the literary world and to common readers, who might be
repelled by the systematic form, and the unrelieved reasonings
of the Principles of Human Knoiuledge.

He was now to enter a wider world of life, with which the
tranquil speculations of philosophy were perhaps less in harmony
than the one described in this chapter.

'* I am favoured by the Rev. Dr. Dickson,
the learned Librarian, with the following note
of Salaries in Trinity College, Dublin, ia
1676 and 1722 : —

Augmenta-
tions made
July 19,
1722.
£176 o o
iS 6 8
500
12 00
1 5 o
46 13 4

Provost
Senior Fellow
Junior Fellow
Native Scholar
Other Scholar
Catechist

Salaries in
1676.

£200 o o
30 o o
10 o o

300

ISO

8
16

Senior Dean
Junior Dean
Senior Lecturer
Sub-Lecturer
Bursar
Auditor
Librarian
Kitchen allowance

for each Fellow
Kitchen allowance

for each Scholar

The annual fee paid by Fellow Commoners
to the Tutor was £4. Sizars paid nothing.

}8 15

3 II

4
12

30
23

6 8

o o

12 5

4 5

CHAPTER III.

ENGLAND, FRANCE, AND ITALY.
1713— 172I.

On an April Sunday, in 17 13, Berkeley appeared at the Court
of Queen Anne in the company of Swift. The Journal to Stella^
that curious reve'ation of Swift's brilliant connection with the
political and literary world of London from September 17 10
till June 1 7 13, contains the following entry :—' April 12, [1713]
— I went to Court to-day on purpose to present Mr. Berkeley, one
of our Fellows of Trinity College, to Lord Berkeley of Stratton.
That Mr. Berkeley is a very ingenious man and great philosopher,
and I have mentioned him to all the ministers, and have given
them some of his writings, and I will favour him as much as I
can. This, I think, I am bound to — in honour and conscience
to use all my little credit towards helping forward men of worth
in the world.'

It is probable that before Swift left Ireland, in 1710, Berkeley
was not unknown to him, though from. the way in which he is
here mentioned one can hardly suppose that he had been a fre-
quent visitor at Laracor. The origin of their acquaintance, which
helped in several ways to shape Berkeley's course, can only be
conjectured. Swift was a generous and steady friend, though his
* severe sense' could, scarcely appreciate the peculiar merit of
this 'great philosopher's' writings. Berkeley's 'Passive Obedi-
ence,' and his ' duty of not resisting the supreme civil power,'
however, were no unwelcome watchwords for the political friend
and adviser of Oxford and Bolingbroke. Perhaps, too, the memory
of long past days on the bank of the Nore, in the 'famous school'
of Kilkenny, might have had its influence with Swift. At any

London. 55

rate, he now took the lead in introducing the young Dublin Fellow
to the great in letters and in rank.

On the 1 6th of April, four days after Berkeley was presented at
Court to his kinsman, Lord Berkeley of Stratton, his name again
appears in Swift's diary. Swift had been visiting Lady Masham
in the morning, and receiving her condolences on his approach-
ing banishment to St. Patrick's^ the only reward the Tories could
give him in return for his perversion and his pen. He was
'never more moved than to see so much friendship.' He would
not stay with her that day, but ' went and dined with Dr. Ar-
buthnot, and with Mr. Berkeley, one of your Fellows, whom I have
recommended to the doctor, and to Lord Berkeley of Stratton.'
And on the 21st of April, amid Swift's fluctuations of feeling about
the deanery of St. Patrick's, he ' dined in an alehouse with Parnell
and Berkeley;' not being in humour to go among the ministers,
though Lord Dartmouth had invited him to dine with him, and
Lord Treasurer was to be there. He had told them he would do
so if he were ' out of suspense.'

Swift was put out of suspense a few days after. Early in June
he was at Chester, ' after a ride of six days from London, pre-
paring to proceed to Holyhead and Dublin, condemned again to
live in Ireland, but intending to return to London ' before
winter.' His enforced residence afterwards in his native island
left him free to apply his early principles of liberty, and his
strong patriotic feeling, to rouse resentment against the wrongs of
his country.

The Journal to Stella^ in that spring of 1713, reveals in its
minute details the London life into which Swift introduced
Berkeley. Let us look through this faithful medium a little at
what was then going on. A few days before Berkeley's name
appears. Swift was '^at the rehearsal of Mr. Addison's play
called Cato,' where his friend Dr. Ashe, Bishop of Clogher, was
too, but 'privately in a gallery.' On the ist of April he
records that 'Steele has begun a new daily paper called the
Guardian ; they say good for nothing. I have not seen it.' In
March, ' Parnell's poem was mightily esteemed, but poetry sells ill.
Mr. Pope has published a fine poem called Windsor Forest.' On
one day he walked to Chelsea to see Dr. Atterbury, then Dean
of Christ Church; on another day he saw the Bishop of Clogher at

56 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Court. Again, he dines with the Duke of Ormond and Sir Thomas
Hanmer. Sir Thomas was the most considerable man in the
House of Commons. He was, it seems, much out of humour with
things, and thought the Peace was kept off too long, and was full
of fears and doubts. People thought he was designed for Secretary
of State, instead of Lord Dartmouth. An evening is spent with
Dr. Pratt and the Bishop of Clogher, and they ' play at ombre for
threepence.' On another day, while he is at dinner at Lord
Treasurer's, with some of the Sixteen Brothers, a servant an-
nounces that Lord Peterborough is at the door. Lord Treasurer
and my Lord Bolingbroke go out to meet him, and bring him in.
He is just returned from abroad, where he has been for above
a year. When he sees Swift, he leaves the Duke of Ormond and
the other lords, and runs and kisses him before he speaks to them.
He is at least sixty, and has more spirits than any young fellow in
England. After church, on another Sunday, Swift showed the
Bishop of Clogher at Court ' who is who.' The Bishop, it seems,
had taken his lodgings in town for the winter. There were in
town abundance of people from Ireland — ' half a dozen Bishops
at least.' 'Poor Master Ashe has a redness in his face; it is
St. Anthony's fire.' Then he dines with Lady Oxford, and sits with
Lord Treasurer, who shows him a letter from an unknown hand,
relating to Dr. Peter Browne, Bishop of Cork, redommending him
to a better bishopric somewhere else. But the Bishop of Cork
remained where he was. Again, after a Sunday at Court — 'I
make no figure at Court, where I affect to turn from a lord to the
meanest of my acquaintance. I love to go there on Sundays to
see the world. But, to say the truth, I am growing weary of it.
I presented Pratt to Lord Treasurer, and young Molyneux would
have had me present him too, but I directly answered him,
I would not, unless he had business with him. He is the son of
Mr. Molyneux of Ireland. His father wrote a book. I suppose
you know it.' On another day he meets ' Mr. Addison and pastoral
Philips on the Mall,' and takes a turn with them • but they both
looked terribly dry and cold. ' A curse of party.' Then Dr. Cog-
hill and he dine by invitation at Mrs. Van.'s. After a dinner
somewhere else, the company parted early, but Freind, Prior,
and Swift sat a while longer and ' reformed the State.' Again at
Court, but nobody, it seems, invited him to dinner, except one or

III.] London. 57

two whom he did not care to dine with. So he dined with
Mrs. Vanhomrigh.

He had been living thus through months and years of political
intrigue among the Sixteen Brothers, and of literary gossip at
Button's, or now in the Scriblerus Club.

It was some time in the wet and dreary spring of 1713^
that the philosophical enthusiast of Trinity College found his
way from Dublin, probably through Holyhead and Chester, to
London. We can only conjecture the motives of his journey.
The College minute reports ill health. Perhaps, too, he wanted
to see the world. He may have been moved by literary
ambition ; or by the zeal of a philosophical missionary, bent on
getting people to conceive the material universe according to his
own new way of thinking about it. We have no record of his arrival,
or how he looked at London, which was then speculating about
the Peace of Utrecht, or admiring its new cathedral of St. Paul's.
His arrival may have been a month or two before the April morning
on which, in Swift's company, he made his appearance at the Court
of Queen Anne. Before April came he was writing essays against
the Free-thinkers, in the 'new paper called the Guardian^ and
he seems already to have found his way into some of the free-
thinking clubs as an observer. Steele commenced the Guardian on
the 12th of March in that year, soon after the temporary cessation
of the Spectator J and the new paper was abruptly dropped in a little
more than six months. Berkeley's connection with it as a con-
tributor seems to have extended from the 14th of March to the
5th of August, when he contributed fourteen essays. These essays
are now contained for the first time in an edition of Berkeley's
works.

Probably the Junior Fellow of Trinity was not unwilling to earn
bread by his pen, as well as to tell the world what was deep in his
thoughts. Each essay brought him a guinea, and also a dinner
from his countryman Steele, perhaps among the wits at Button's,

1 By report that spring in London was ' It is rainy again ; never saw the like '

a very wet one. Swift, among others, (April 6). 'It rains every day ' (April lo).

records it. 'Terrible rain all day' (March And on July 20, Pope writes to Addison,

29). ' I have fires still, though April ' I am more joyed at your return than I

is begun, against my old maxim ; but the should be at that of the sun, so much as I

weather is wet and cold. I never saw wish for him in this melancholy wet season.'

such a long run of ill weather in my life' (Aiken's Life of Addison, vol. II. p. 92.)
(April 2). ' It rained all day ' (April 4).

58 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

or in his country cottage on Haverstock Hill. Berkeley, we are
told, never spoke or thought highly of Steele's ability. But he
regarded him as 'a man of uncommon good nature, and more
witty in conversation than any person he had ever seen ■-•.■'

About the time of Berkeley's arrival in London, Anthony
Collins, a gentleman of good family in Essex, under forty years
of age, had attracted the talk of the town, and roused the theo-
logical world, by a Discourse of Free-thinking^ occasioned by the rise and
groivth of a Sect called Free-thinkers^ which was published in Feb-
ruary, 1713. Ten years before, Locke, then at Oates in Essex,
was in affectionate correspondence with this Essex gentleman, in
whom the venerable philosopher thought he found a candour and
ingenuousness superior to almost any of his contemporaries.
Soon after Locke's death^ Collins got involved in theological con-
troversy. He supported Dodwell against Clarke, by reasonings
which Swift has preserved for ridicule in Martinus Scriblerus. In
1709 he published a tract against priestcraft j and in the follow-
ing year he attacked King, the Archbishop of Dublin, for his sermon
on predestination and foreknowledge. And now, in this Discourse^
he boldly took for granted that all believers in supernatural
revelation must be hostile to free inquiry. Berkeley may have
met Collins in the course of this season in London. In the
society of that time, Steele and Addison, and all who mixed freely
with the wits and politicians, might be found in their private hours
in familiar intercourse with persons who openly avowed that they
had abandoned Christianity. Berkeley is reported to have said
that, being present in one of the deistical clubs in the pretended
character of a learner, he was informed that Collins had an-
nounced himself as the discoverer of a demonstration against the
existence of God '^.

The exclusive claim to free inquiry made by the 'Free-
thinkers ' roused the indignation of Berkeley. In those essays in
the Guardian he appears as a free-thinking Anti-free-thinker. His
simplicity and earnestness, as well as his subtle imagination,
refined humour, and sarcasm, are seen in his contributions.
The author of the Principles of Human Knowledge^ and of the
Discourse of Passive Obedience appears in the new character of a

' Biograpbia Britannica, vol. III. — 'Ad- » Chandler's Life of Johnson, p. 57.

denda and Corrigenda.'

in.]

London. 59

contributor to popular periodical literature, trying to describe
the believer in God and immortality by contrasts with the un-
believer in both. It was his first act in a controversy to which
he long afterwards returned.

Through Swift and Steele, Berkeley soon found his way among
other men of Queen Anne's time. In this summer of 17 13, Pope
was still living at Binfield, among the glades of Windsor, but he
was no doubt to be found in the neighbourhood of St. James's,
or in his favourite cofFee-house at Covent Garden. Berkeley and
the young poet must have been soon brought together, and we find
them in correspondence in the following winter. Swift had intro-
duced him to his kinsman the Earl of Berkeley, and by the Earl
he was sometime after introduced to Atterbury. The story of
their meeting is well known "*. Atterbury, having heard much
of Berkeley, wished to see him. Accordingly he was introduced
to the Bishop by the Earl. After some time the other quitted
the room, and when Lord Berkeley said to the Bishop, 'Does
my cousin answer your lordship's expectations ? ' Atterbury,
lifting up his hands in astonishment, replied, 'So much under-
standing, so much knowledge, so much innocence, and such
humility, I did not think had been the portion of any but angels
till I saw this gentleman.'

Berkeley now met the serene and cheerful Addison, as well
as the warm and impulsive Steele, and the sensitive, fastidious
poet of Binfield. Nor was he confined to poets. At the instance
of Addison, a meeting, Stock says, was arranged with Clarke,
the metaphysical divine, to discuss the reality of the existence of
sensible things. Berkeley was believed to profess the monstrous
paradox that sensible things do not exist at all ; and his
philosophy, naturally, was becoming an object of ridicule to the
wits 5. Great hopes were entertained of the issue of this meeting.
But the parties separated without coming nearer than when they
met; and Berkeley is reported to have complained that his anta-
gonist, though he could not answer his arguments, had not the
candour to acknowledge himself convinced.

* See Hughes' Letters, vol. II. p. 2. Essay on Satire occasioned by the death of

^ So Brown, long after this — Mr. Pope (1. 224). By J. Brown, A.M.

'And coxcombs vanquish Berkeley with a grin.'

6o Life and Letters of Berkeley, [ch.

In 1 7 13, Clarke was preaching, in the parish church of St. James's,
Westminster, those discourses of clear and strong argumentative
texture many volumes of which have descended to us in print.
Nine years before, he had delivered, in the cathedral church of
St. Paul, that famous Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of
Godj with which Berkeley must have been acquainted, and which
attracted the ablest thinkers of his time. In the autumn of 17 13,
the Demonstration brought Clarke into contact with young Joseph
Butler, afterwards author of the Analogy^ whose letters, with
Clarke's rejoinders, form a correspondence unmatched in its kind
in English philosophical literature. Perhaps on some Sunday,
not long after his arrival in London, the Dublin Junior Fellow
might have been found in the parish church of St. James's. We
do not know when or where Clarke and Berkeley first met.
The meeting, said to have been arranged by Addison, may have
occurred in 17 13, or in either of the two following years. It
cannot have been later, for Addison died in 1719, when Berkeley
had been for years abroad.

Among his other occasional associates in the summer of 17 13
were Arbuthnot, the London wit and Scotch doctor at the Court
of Queen Anne, the poets Gay and Parnell, Dr. John Freind, the
eminent English physician, and his brother Dr. Robert Freind,
the learned head master of Westminster School. Matthew Prior,
the poet and diplomatist, was most of this year at the Court of
Versailles, or employed in negotiations about the Peace. But
Thomas Prior of Dublin, the companion of Berkeley's boyish days
at Kilkenny, and of his undergraduate years at Dublin, was in
London in November, if not sooner. They may have come over
together from Ireland, or the one may have preceded the other,
and perhaps induced his friend to follow him. It was probably
in the spring or summer of this year^ too, that a dinner occurred
at Mrs. Vanhomrigh's house, which, recollected years after,
strangely affected Berkeley's fortune. He may have been carried
there by Swift, on one of those many occasions, some of which
are recorded in the Diary for the entertainment of poor Stella.

It was not merely as a subtle satirist of the Free-thinkers that
Berkeley addressed the world through the press in the course of
this year. He wanted to produce, in a form more suited to the

III.] London. 6i

wits and to the mass of mankind, the great thought contained in
the Vrlnciples of Human Knowledge^ some of the minor applications
of which may be found in his essays in the Guardian.

This was attempted in his Dialogues hefween Hylas and
FhilonouSj which are concerned with the metaphysical meaning
of the material world. In the Preface to this charming work
Berkeley describes his philosophy as intended ' to divert the busy
mind of man from vain researches .... to conduct men back
from paradoxes to Common Sense, in accordance with the
design of Nature and Providence — that the end of speculation is
practice, and the improvement and regulation of our lives and
actions .... to counteract the pains that have been taken [by
scholastic metaphysicians] to perplex the plainest things, with the
consequent distrust of the senses, the doubts and scruples, the
abstractions and refinements that occur in the very entrance of
the sciences .... to lay down such Principles as, by an easy solu-
tion of the perplexities of philosophers, together with their own
native evidence, may at once recommend themselves for genuine
to the mind, and rescue philosophy from the endless pursuits it is
engaged in; which, with a plain demonstration of the Immediate
Providence of an All-seeing God, should seem the readiest prepa-
ration, as well as the strongest motive, to the study and practice
of virtue.' * If the Principles,' he adds, ' which I endeavour to
propagate are admitted for true, the consequences which I think
evidently follow from them are, that Scepticism and Atheism
will be utterly destroyed, many intricate points made plain,
great difficulties solved, several useless parts of Science re-
trenched, speculation referred to practice, and men reduced from
paradoxes to common sense.' The spirit of the Berkeleian philo-
sophy is nowhere more distinctly expressed than in these words.

Probably, as I have already said, his last year at Dublin was
given to preparation of these immortal Dialogues^ which, with
little dramatic versatility, contain the most pleasing passages
of fancy to be found in English metaphysical literature. It is not
unlikely that a desire to publish them with good effect may
have been a motive of his visit to London. I have not discovered
the month in 17 13 in which the book appeared. We may conclude
that it was after the Sunday in April when Berkeley was presented
to the Lord Berkeley of Stratton, to whom it is dedicated.

62 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

It is difficult at this distance of time to ascertain the immediate
influence upon philosophical opinion of this attempt to popularize
the new conception of the material world, which is said to have
made some influential converts in England, among others, Dr.
Smallridge, the well-known Bishop of Bristol. But even the
educated mind was not then ripe for the due appreciation of a
doctrine so paradoxical in its sound. More than twenty years
were to elapse before it found an intellectual audience in David
Hume and other Scotchmen and Americans ^.

The simple and transparent beauty of Berkeley's style is not
less remarkable than the ingenuity of his reasonings. He emerged
in provincial Ireland the most elegant writer of the English
language for philosophical purposes who had then, or who has
since, appeared, at a time too when Ireland, like Scotland, was
in a state of provincial barbarism. The greatest master of nervous
English prose then living was no doubt also an Irishman. But
Swift had been in England, and was for years in the family of
Sir William Temple, who brought English style to perfection,
and was accustomed to employ language that is less antiquated
at the present day than that of any of his contemporaries. The
case of Berkeley is unique.

In the same year in which the Dialogues were published at the
Half Moon in St. Paurs Church-yard, a small volume, entitled
Clavls Universalis^ or a Demo?tstration of the Non-existence and Impos-
sibility of an External World^ written by Arthur Collier, Rector
of Langford Magna, near Old Sarum, was printed by Robert
Gosling, at the Mitre and Crown^ against St. Dunstan's Church
in Fleet Street. The coincidence is among the most curious
in the history of philosophy. There is no evidence that either
author drew his thought from the other. Berkeley, at least, can-
not have borrowed from Collier, for the Principles of Human Knoiv-
ledge had been in circulation for three years when Collier pub-
lished his Clavis. So far as the speculation of the English Rector
agrees with that of the Dublin Fellow, the agreement may be
refe:red to the common philosophical point of view at the time.
The scientific world was preparing for that reconstruction of its
conception of what sensible things and externality mean, which

^ In the Acta Eniditorum for August 1727 there is a short account of the Dialogues.

III.] London. 63

has since clarified and simplified physical research. Collier, in
his own way, was not wanting in force j but he expressed his
acute thoughts in awkward English, with the pedantry of a school-
man, and wanted the sentiment, and imagination, and constant
recognition of the relation of speculation to human action, which
in the course of time made the contemporary writings of Berke-
ley an influence that has left its mark upon all later thought.
The theory of sense symbolism, which connected Berkeley with
the Baconian movement, and also with religion, is wanting in
Collier, whose arid reasonings are divorced from the living in-
terests of men. The starting-point of Berkeley was more in the
current philosophy of Locke; Collier produced the meditative
reasonings of a recluse student of Malebranche and the schoolmen.
Collier too, like Butler and Berkeley, addressed Clarke, 'the
metaphysical patriarch of his time,' as he is called by Sir James
Mackintosh. A letter from Collier to Clarke, printed in Ben-
son's Ufe of Collier J may interest the reader who wishes to com-
pare his thoughts with those of Berkeley regarding the metaphysical
meaning of a material world. The letter contains an allusion to
the author of Fr'mciples of Human Knoivledge. It is much to be
regretted that we have no extant letters from Clarke either to
Berkeley or to Collier.

And so Berkeley's first spring and summer in London passed away.
In autumn we find him amidst other scenes.

' He had been introduced by Swift to Mordaunt, Earl of Peter-
borough, then one of the most extraordinary characters in Europe,
who a few years before had astonished the world by the rapid
splendour of his movements in the war of the Succession in Spain,
and since, by his restless versatility as a diplomatist. A scholar
and a man of the world, an enemy to religion who nevertheless
is said to have written sermons to rival christian preachers ;
haughty, yet fond of popularity ; of frugal habits, and possessed of
large estates, yet always to appearance poor and in debt ; the rival
of Marlborough in war, but who, in none of his campaigns,
brought solid advantages to his country; this eccentric peer con-
densed in his own very varied personal experience much of the
experience of his generation. We have his picture about this time

64 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

— a small well-shaped thin man, with a brisk look, endowed with
a supernatural activity, and more than fifty years of age. In Hol-
land, nearly a quarter of a century before, he formed an intimate
friendship with Locke. Their correspondence proves the wit and
keen intellect of Peterborough not less than their mutual regard''.

Berkeley, with his eyes open to what was going on, was now
brought in contact with this strange and contradictory character.
Notwithstanding the distrust in his discretion, the Earl of Peter-
borough was, in November 1713, appointed Ambassador Extraor-
dinary to Victor Amodeus, King of Sicily, who had then obtained
from Spain the crown of that island. At Swift's recommendation,
he took Berkeley with him, as his chaplain and secretary.

The Ambassador remained a fortnight in Paris on his way,
and went from thence to Toulon, parting from his chaplain,
who entered Italy by another route. At Toulon, he took ship
for Genoa and Leghorn, where he again left his chaplain and
the greater part of his retinue, embarking in a Maltese brig
for Sicily with only two servants. Having remained there for a
time incognito, he returned to Genoa, and awaited the arrival
from England of a yacht in which his equipage was embarked.
When it came, he returned to Sicily and made his appearance
in state. He was recalled from his embassy in August 17 14 — one
of the many changes which followed the death of the Queen —
after a mission unattended with any more advantageous result,
according to his biographer, than that of relieving the ministry
from the embarrassment either of his opposition or his support.

Ten months in France and Italy with Lord Peterborough must
have been life in a new world to the subtle analyst who had so
lately been introduced to the wits of London. It does not seem,
however, after all, that he saw much of this inscrutable personage.
But it was to Berkeley the beginning of a career of wandering,

' Peterborough was afterwards commemorated by Pope, among the other companions of
his Tusculum —

' There, my retreat the best companions grace,
Chiefs out of war, and statesmen out of place.
There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl
The feast of reason and the flow of soul :
And he whose lightning pierced the Iberian lines.
Now forms my quincunx, and now ranks my vines.
Or tames the genius of the stubborn plain.
Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain.'

Imitations of Horace, Sat. I. 125.

III.] France, 65

which, with little interruption, lasted for many years, during
which philosophy and the printing press were in the background.
He left the thought, of which he had now delivered himself to
the world, to do its work, and, with the ardour of manly youth,
directed his inquiring eye to nature and human life on the Con-
tinent of Europe.

By the statutes of Trinity College, Dublin, a Junior Fellow can
obtain leave of absence for sixty-three days with the consent of
the Provost. For a longer absence, a dispensation must be ob-
tained from the Crown. The following Queen's Letter to the
Provost and Fellows, which I have obtained from the Register,
gives the reasons for which a leave of absence for two years was
now granted to Berkeley : —

Anne R.

Trusty and well beloved, we greet you well. Whereas by
ye statutes of that our College, the Fellows thereof are not permitted to
be absent from thence above sixty-three days in any one year without our
Royal Dispensation in that behalf. And whereas humble suit hath been
made unto us in behalf of our trusty and well beloved George Berkeley,
one of ye Junior Fellows of that our College, that we would give him
leave to travel and remain abroad during y'^ space of two years, for y®
recovery of his health and his improvement in learning ; we being
graciously pleased to condescend thereunto, have thought fit to dispense
with ye said Statutes of residence, and all other Statutes, on behalf of y®
said George Berkeley. And our will and pleasure is that yc said George
Berkeley, during ye aforesaid time of two years, have, receive, and enjoy
all profits, priviledges, and advantages to his Fellowship belonging, and
that such his absence shall in no wise prejudice him in y" right and pre-
tensions to his said Fellowship, whereof we have thought fit hereby to
give you notice, that due obedience be paid to our pleasure herein imme-
diately. And so we bid you farewell.

Given at our Castle at Windsor, ye ninth day of September 17 13, in
the twelfth year of our reign. By Her Majesty's command,

BOLINGBROKE.

Berkeley's arrangements with Lord Peterborough were probably
made in August. His leave to travel and live abroad for two
years was recorded by the College on the 6th of November.

We have already had a revelation of Berkeley's intellectual

VOL. IV. F

66 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

activity, in his own words — some of them published by him, and
others not written for publication. Now, for the first time, we
•have an account, also in his own words, of some of his move-
ments from place to place. The earliest of his letters that has
been preserved is addressed to Thomas Prior. It was written at
Paris a few days after his departure from England. He left
London, it seems, on the 1 3th, and arrived there on the 20th of
November. This is his account of the journey, and of his first
impressions of France : —

Paris, November 25, 17 13, N.S.
Dear Tom,

From London to Calais I came in the company of a Flamand, a
Spaniard, a Frenchman, and three English servants of my Lord. The
three gentlemen being of those diflferent nations obliged me to speak the
French language (which is now familiar), and gave me the opportunity
of seeing much of the world in a little compass. After a very remark-
able escape from rocks and banks of sand, and darkness and storm, and
the hazards that attend rash and ignorant seamen, we arrived at Calais
in a vessel which, returning the next day, was cast away in the harbour
in open daylight, (as I think I already told you). From Calais, Colonel
du Hamel left it to my choice either to go with him by post to Paris, or
come after in the stage-coach. I chose the latter; and, on November i,
O. S, embarked in the stage-coach with a company that were all perfect
strangers to me. There were two Scotch, and one English gentleman.
One of the former happened to be the author* of the Voyage to St. Kilda,
and the Account of the Western Isles. We were good company on the
road; and that day se'ennight came to Paris.

I have been since taken up in viewing churches, convents, palaces,
colleges, &c., which are very numerous and magnificent in this town.
The splendour and riches of these things surpasses belief; but it were
endless to descend to particulars. I was present at a disputation in the
Sorbonne, which indeed had much of the French fire in it. I saw the
Irish and the English colleges. Li the latter I saw, inclosed in a coffin,
the body of the late king James ^. Bits of the coffin, and of the cloth that

* Murdoch Martin, a native of the Isle of 169B, and his Descriptio?i of the Western

Skye, born about 1665. He travelled much, Islands of Scotland in 1 703. The latter

and was induced by his friends in the Royal contains a curious account of the Second

Society to explore the Western Islands of Sight. Martin is referred to in Johnson's

Scotland. Some of his observations ap- Journey to the Western Islands.
peared in the Transactions of the Society. ^ James II, who died in 1701, at St. Ger-

His Voyage to St. Kilda was published in mains.

III.] France. 67

hangs the room, have been cut away for relics, he being esteemed a
■great saint by the people. The day after I came to town, I dined at the
ambassador of Sicily's ; and this day with Mr. Prior ^^. I snatched an
opportunity to mention you to him, and do your character justice. To-
morrow I intend to visit Father Malebranche ", and discourse him on
certain points. I have some reasons to decline speaking of the country
or villages that I saw as I came along.

My Lord is just now arrived, and tells me he has an opportunity of
sending my letters to my friends to-morrow morning, w^hich occasions
my writing this. My humble service to Sir John Rawdon ^-, Mrs. Rawdon,
Mrs. Kempsy, and all other friends. My Lord thinks he shall stay a
fortnight here. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

I must give you the trouble of putting the inclosed in the penny-post.

To Mr. Thomas Prior, Pall Mall Coffee House.

A month was spent in Paris. Another fortnight carried Berkeley,
and two companions. Colonel du Hamel and Mr. Oglethorpe ^■'^,
by the route into Italy which they preferred, through Savoy.
They crossed Mount Cenis on New Yearns Day, in 17 14. Here
is Berkeley's narrative of the formidable journey, in a letter to
Prior from Turin : —

Turin, Jan. d, N.S. 1713-4.
Dear Tom,
At Lyons, where 1 was about eight days, it was left to my choice
whether I would go from thence to Toulon, and there embark for
Genoa, or else pass through Savoy, cross the Alps, and so through Italy.

1* Matthew Prior, the diplomatist and Court of Great Britain t6 the king of Sicily,

poet. His origin was obscure, and I trace See Nichol's Lit. Anec. vol. II. p. 19. But

no connection with Thomas Prior. Berkeley, in the following letter, calls his

^' This is the only allusion by Berkeley companion 'Adjutant-General of the Queen's

to personal intercourse with Malebranche. forces,' which, at this time, James Ogle-

1^ Father of the first Earl of Moira. He thorpe could hardly have been. His brother

married, in 171 7, a daughter of Sir Richard Theophilus (who about 1714 retired to

Levinge, Bart , Speaker of the Irish House Sicily) was, in the opinion of Mr. Wright

of Commons. (a biographer of the General), the Mr. Ogle-

'' It has been asserted and denied that this thorpe mentioned by Berkeley. The Ame-

was James Oglethorpe (afterwards General), rican biographer of James Oglethorpe sug-

the philanthropist, and founder of Georgia, in gests that this supposed companionship with

America. General James Oglethorpe was Berkeley may have afforded opportunity for

born in Westminster in 16S9, and entered concerting philanthropic plans, the effects of

the army as ensign (according to his which were afterwards apparent in the lite

latest biographer) in 1 710. In 1714, he of each. James Oglethorpe died in 1785.

is said to have been in the suite of the In his old age he was a companion of

Earl of Peterborough, Ambassador from the .Tohnson and Boswell.

F 2

68 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

I chose the latter route, though I was obHged to ride post, in company
of Colonel du Hamel and Mr. Oglethorpe, Adjutant-General of the
Queen's forces, who were sent with a letter from my Lord to the King's
mother at Turin.

The first day we rode from Lyons to Chambery, the capital of Savoy,
which is reckoned sixty miles. The Lionnois and Dauphin^ were very
well ; but Savoy was a perpetual chain of rocks and mountains, almost
impassible for ice and snow. And yet I rode post through it, and came
off with only four falls ; from which I received no other damage than
the breaking my sword, my watch, and my snuff-box.

On New Year's Day we passed Mount Cenis, one of the most difficult
and formidable parts of the Alps which is ever passed over by mortal
men. We were carried in open chairs by men used to scale these rocks
and precipices, which in this season are more slippery and dangerous
than at other times, and at the best are high, craggy, and steep enough
to cause the heart of the most valiant man to melt within him. My life
often depended on a single step. No one will think that I exaggerate,
who considers what it is to pass the Alps on New Year's Day. But I
shall leave particulars to be described by the fire-side.

We have been now five days here, and in two or three more design to
set forward towards Genoa, where we are to join my Lord, who em-
barked at Toulon. I am now hardened against wind and weather, earth
and sea, frost and snow ; can gallop all day long, and sleep but three or
four hours at night. The court here is polite and splendid, the city
beautiful, the churches and colleges magnificent, but not much learning
stirring among them. However, all orders of people, clergy and laity,
are wonderfully civil, and everywhere a man finds his account in being
an Englishman, that character alone being sufficient to gain respect. My
service to all friends, particularly to Sir John and Mrs. Rawdon, and
Mrs. Kempsy. It is my advice that they do not pass the Alps in their

way to Sicily. I am, dear Tom, yours, &c.,

G. B.

At the end of six weeks more we find Berkeley at Leghorn,
where he lived for three months, while Lord Peterborough was
in Sicily. The circumstances are thus reported to Prior, in a
letter which contains a reference to the condition of France,
in the last year of Lewis XIV : —

Dear Tom,
Mrs. Rawdon is too thin, and Sir John too fat, to agree with the
English climate. I advise them to make haste and transport themselves

UL^ Italy. 69

into this warm clear air. Your best way is to come through France;
but make no long stay there ; for the air is too cold, and there are
instances enough of poverty and distress to spoil the mirth of any one
who feels the sufferings of his fellow-creatures. I would prescribe you
two or three operas at Paris, and as many days amusement at Versailles.
My next recipe shall be, to ride post from Paris to Toulon, and there to
embark for Genoa ; for I would by no means have you shaken to pieces,
as I was, riding post over the rocks of Savoy, or put out of humour by
the most horrible precipices of Mount Cenis, that part of the Alps which
divides Piedmont from Savoy. I shall not anticipate your pleasure by
any description of Italy or France ; only with regard to the latter, I can-
not help observing, that the Jacobites have little to hope, and others little
to fear, from that reduced nation. The king indeed looks as he neither
wanted meat nor drink, and his palaces are in good repair ; but through-
out the land there is a different face of things. I staid about a month at
Paris, eight days at Lyons, eleven at Turin, three weeks at Genoa ; and
am now to be above a fortnight with my Lord's secretary (an Italian) and
some others of his retinue, my Lord having gone aboard a Maltese vessel
from hence to Sicily, with a couple of servants. He designs to stay
there incognito a few days, and then return hither, having put off his
public entry till the yacht with his equipage arrives.

I have wrote to you several times before by post. In answer to all
my letters, I desire you to send me one great one, close writ, and filled
on all sides, containing a particular account of all transactions in London
and Dublin. Inclose it in a cover to my Lord Ambassador, and that
again in another cover to Mr. Hare at my Lord Bolingbroke's office.
If you have a mind to travel only in the map, here is a list of all the
places where I lodged since my leaving England, in their natural order :
Calais, Boulogne, Montreuil, Abbeville, Poix, Beauvais, Paris, Melun,
Ville Neufe le Roi, Vermonton, Saulieu, Chalons, Ma9on, Lyons, Cham-
bery, St. Jean de Maurienne, Lanebourg, Susa, Turin, Alexandria, Campo
Maro, Genoa, Lestri di Levante, Lerici, Leghorne. My humble service
to Sir John, Mrs. Rawdon and Mrs. Kempsy, Mr. Digby, Mr. French, &c.
I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

Leghorn, Feb. 26, N.S. 17 13-4.

An amusing incident of this Leghorn residence was authenti-
cated long after Berkeley's death, in the Gentlemav' s Magazine ^^.
Basil Kennet, the well-known author of the Roman Antiquities., a

'♦ Vol. XLvr. p. 569.

JO Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

brother of Bishop Kennet, and a friend of Addison, happened to be
chaplain at the English factory at Leghorn duiing Berkeley's stay.
He had been sent there in 170(5, and maintained a difficult
position with moral courage. Leghorn was the only place in
Italy at which the English service was then tolerated by the
Government, a favour obtained from the Grand Duke at the
particular instance of Queen Anne. Kennet asked Berkeley to
officiate for him one Sunday. The day after, a procession of
priests in surplices, with sundry formalities, entered the room
in which he was sitting, and without taking any notice of
its wondering occupant, marched round it, uttering certain prayers.
His fears at once suggested a visit from the Inquisition. As soon
as the priests were gone, he ventured cautiously to ask the cause
of the sudden invasion, and was amused by the information that
this was the season appointed by the Church for blessing the
houses of Catholics, that they might be relieved of rats and other
domestic vermin.

Berkeley's imagined offence on the Sunday in question was not
his only one. He preached several times in the factory chapel at
Leghorn.

In May he addressed a more famous correspondent than Prior.
The following complimentary letter was sent to Pope, on occasion
of the 'Rape of the Lock^ an enlarged edition of which, with the
author's name, had appeared in the spring of the year : —

Leghorn, May i, 1714.
As I take ingratitude to be a greater crime than impertinence, I chose
rather to run the risk of being thought guilty of the latter, than not to
return you my thanks for the very agreeable entertainment you just now
gave me. I have accidentally met with your Rape of the Lock here,
having never seen it before ^^ Style, painting, judgment, spirit, I had
already admired in your other writings ; but in this I am charmed with
the magic of your invention, with all those images, allusions, and in-
explicable beauties which you raise so surprisingly, and at the same time
so naturally, out of a trifle. And yet I cannot say that I was more
pleased with the reading of it, than I am with the pretext it gives me
to renew in your thoughts the remembrance of one who values no
happiness beyond the friendship of men of wit, learning, and good
nature.

1* The poem was at first published (anonymously) in 171 2.

III.] Italy, 71

I remember to have heard you mention some half formed design of
coming to Italy. What might we not expect from a muse that sings
so well in the bleak climate of England, if she felt the same warm sun,
and breathed the same air with Virgil and Horace.

There is here an incredible number of poets that have all the inclina-
tion, but want the genius, or perhaps the art of the ancients. Some
among them, who understand English, begin to relish our authors ; and
I am informed that at Florence they have translated Milton into Italian
verse"'. If one who knows so well how to write like the old Latin poets
came among them, it would probably be a means to retrieve them from
their cold trivial conceits, to an imitation of their predecessors.

As merchants, antiquaries, men of pleasure, &c., have all different
views in travelling, I know not whether it might not be worth a poet's
while to travel, in order to store his mind with strong images of nature.

Green fields and groves, flowery meadows and purling streams, are
nowhere in such perfection as in England ; but if you would know light-
some days, warm suns, and blue skies, you must come to Italy ; and to
enable a man to describe rocks and precipices, it is absolutely necessary
that he pass the Alps.

You will easily perceive that it is self interest makes me so fond of
giving advice to one who has no need of it. If you came into these
parts, I should fly to see you. I am here (by the favour of my good
friend the Dean of St. Patrick's) in quality of chaplain to the Earl of
Peterborough, who about three months since left the greatest part of his
family in this town. God knows how long we shall stay here.

I am yours &c.

. The death of the Queen on the ist of August 1714 suddenly
transformed the whole aspect of things in England. It probably
shortened Berkeley's stay on the Continent. On the arrival of
George I from Hanover, the Tory ministry was dissolved, and
Oxford and Bolingbroke were impeached. Peterborough was re-
called. He returned indignant at a want of confidence with which
he now believed that he had been treated throughout the negotia-
tions which preceded the Peace of Utrecht. Bolingbroke, who
had at once withdrawn into France to avoid the storm in England,
met the ex-ambassador, lingering on his homeward journey, on

'^ Apparently this was a translation of lished. See Todd's Milton, vol. IV. p. 535
Paradise Lost by the Abbe Salvini, which (ed. 1852). Rolli's version, published at
was seen in manuscript at Florence by the London in 1 7,^5. 's the earliest Italian trans-
younger Richardson, but has not been pub- lation of Milton known to be in print.

72 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

the road between Paris and Calais. Peterborough, it is said,
took the opportunity of showing his resentment, by passing him
without exchanging a word.

Berkeley returned to London in August J 7 14. It is difficult to
follow his movements for some time after this. We have a glimpse
of him in illness in one of Arbuthnot's chatty letters to Swift : —
*Poor philosopher Berkeley has now the idea of health, which was
very hard to produce in him ; for he had an idea of a strange fever
upon him, so strong that it was very hard to destroy it by intro-
ducing a contrary one.' This letter is dated October 19, 17 14. It
is hardly necessary to refer to its equivocal use of the term ^ idea.'

The death of the Queen destroyed Berkeley's chance of Church
preferment through Swift or Lord Peterborough. The Tories
were now out of power. It is not unlikely, however, that an
effort was made soon after his return to London to find a place
for him in the Irish establishment. The suspicion of Jacobitism,
raised by his common-places on Passive Obedience ^ is said to have
now met him again. He was presented, it seems, to the Prince
and Princess of Wales by Samuel Molyneux, who was secretary to
the Prince : he was then recommended by the Princess to Lord
Galway for promotion in the Church. Lord Galway, having heard
of the sermons, alleged a rumour of Jacobitism. Mr. Molyneux
produced the Discourse^ and proved that what Berkeley maintained
was, the divine right of Government, and not the divine right of
the Stewart Kings ". We are not told when this incident occurred.
It might have been in 1715, when the Duke of Grafton and Lord
Galway were Lords Justices in Ireland, and the Prince of Wales
Chancellor of the University of Dublin. I have not found, how-
ever, that Berkeley visited Ireland in that or the preceding year.

The following scrap, an extract preserved from a letter from
Berkeley to Pope, can hardly have been written in London : —

July 7, 1715.
.... Some days ago three or four gentlemen and myself, exerting that
right which all the readers pretend to over authors, sat in judgment upon
the two new translations of the first Iliad '*. Without partiality to my

" The incident is mentioned by Stock. other version referred to is Tickell's, whose

'* The first volume of Pope's Homer was translation of the First Book of the Iliad

issued to subscribers in June 17 15. The appeared in the same year. It was the oc-

III.] Englaiid and France. 73

countrymen, I assure you they all gave the preference where it was due ;
being unanimously of opinion that yours was equally just to the sense

with Mr. 's, and without comparison, more easy, more poetical, and

more sublime. But I will say no more on such a threadbare subject as
your late performance at this time

It was probably in 17 15 that Dr. Ashe, the Bishop of Clogher,
Swift's friend, by whom Berkeley was admitted to holy orders,
asked him to accompany his only son, St. George Ashe, who was
heir to a considerable property, in a tour on the Continent, as his
travelling tutor. The Register of Trinity College informs us that,
'on the 19th of November 1715, leave of absence was granted for
two years longer to George Berkeley, Junior Fellow, to travel and
remain abroad.'

Before November we hear of him in France.

Father Malebranche died at Paris on the 13th of October 1715,
in his 77th year. If we are to believe the common story of his
last illness, Berkeley and young Ashe must have been there in the
autumn of that year, for Berkeley, according to the story, was the
'occasional cause^ of the death of Malebranche. He had proposed
to visit the aged philosopher of France nearly two years before, when
he was in Paris with Lord Peterborough^^. Here is the account
given by Stock of a meeting during this second visit to Paris r —

'Having now [1715 .''] more leisure than when he first passed through
that city [November 1713J, he took care to pay his respects to his
illustrious rival in metaphysical sagacity^". He found the ingenious Father
in a cell, cooking, in a small pipkin, a medicine for a disorder with which
he was then troubled — an inflammation on the lungs. The conversation
naturally turned on Berkeley's system, of which he had received some
knowledge from a translation just published^^. But the issue of the debate
proved tragical to poor Malebranche. In the heat of the disputation, he
raised his voice so high, and gave way so freely to the natural impetuosity
of a man of parts and a Frenchman, that he brought on himself a violent
increase of his disorder, which carried him off a few days after ^^,'

casion of Pope's quarrel with Addison, the French of any of Berkeley's own writings so

latter having given the preference to Tickell's early as 1 71 5.

version. ''■''■ See also Biog. Brit. art. ' Berkeley.' and

^' Cf. letter to Prior, p. 67. Advocat's Diet. Hist. Fort. There is a ver-

*" This almost implies that he did not see sion of the story by De Quincey, in his

Malebranche in 1713. quaint essay, Murder considered as one of

^' I have no trace of a traiiblation into the Fine Arts.

74 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

That the most subtle metaphysician in the British Islands
should encounter the profound and eloquent French mystic in
such circumstances, and with an issue so tragical, is one of those
incidents upon which imagination likes to exercise itself. It is
unfortunate that we have no authentic account of the meeting,
especially one by Berkeley himself, nor any authority that I can
find, except the biographers, for its having occurred at all. The
biographers of Malebranche do not refer to any visit of Berkeley to
the Oratoire^'. They do not even name him.

We can however conjecture what some of the points in dis-
pute might have been. Malebranche nowhere criticises Berkeley.
But we know many of Berkeley's objections to Malebranche.
In his published, and in his hitherto unpublished writings, he
is fond of insisting upon differences betw^een their respective
doctrines. The individualities of men, and the imperfection of
language, make it impossible, indeed, for one independent thinker
to enter perfectly into the thinking of another. Speculative per-
sons, in their conferences and controversies, are inevitably at cross
purposes ; and such collisions, though they sometimes aggravate
the apparent antagonism, are found in the end, in the case of those
who are eclectically disposed, to diminish it. But there was more
room than usual for irrelevant reasoning in a dispute between an
eloquent mystic, who had been accustomed during a long life to
speculate under the inspiration of Des Cartes, reinforced by St.
Augustin and Plato, and a young ardent, thinker, who valued thought
mainly as a means of regulating human actions, and whose origin-
ality and ingenuity had been at first exercised within the atmosphere
of Locke. Locke himself professed not to be able to understand
Malebranche 2*, and Berkeley says nearly as much, when he alludes
to the favourite formula of contemporary French philosophy —
that things are thought by men in the Ideas of God. But enough
of real difference remained for more than a verbal dispute.

The Cartesian antithesis of extended being and thinking being,
mutually opposed, and incapable of being brought into the relation
of sense-knowledge except through the medium of represent affve

^^ The learned Abbe Blampignon, author to give me any Hght or confirmation,
of the "Etude sttr Malebranche, d'apres des -'* See Locke's Examination of Male-

Dommenis Manuscripts stiivie d'une Cor- branche, passim,
respondance inedite (Paris, 1862), is unable

III.] France. 75

ideas of some sort, adopted by Malebraiiche, could not be fully
reconciled with Berkeley's account of perception. Malebranche,
assuming this antithesis, tried to determine what the ideal medium
is, through which the antithesis is converted into a synthesis
in knowledge. The representations of things which the soul
receives in sense cannot, he argued, be passive impressions pro-
duced by the external thing itself, as the Peripatetics supposed ;
they cannot be effects of the internal activity of the human mind
that is conscious of them ; nor can they have been created with
us and in us ; and, further, external things cannot be perceived
by men in the way they are conscious of their own sensations and
passions. He concluded, accordingly, that what we are said to
know in sense is really known in and through God's relation to
us as finite spirits. God contains us and the universe in Him-
self, and all external things are discernible in their true meaning
in His intellectual acts. So far as the sensible world is an in-
telligible world, God is the sensible world. Supreme Mind is the
place of finite spirits, in the same way as Space is the place of
sensible things • and our spirits receive from this relation to the
One Spirit all their true thoughts about things. Our volitions as
v/ell as our ideas of sensible things emanate from Him in whom we
live and move and have our being. Sense-perception is no excep-
tion to the law. In perceiving external things in the senses, we are
participating, more or less adequately, in the Thoughts of God.
In this participation the antithesis of finite thought and extended
thing disappears 2\

Berkeley does not require this Deus ex machlna. With him there
is no knot to be cut. There is not the external thing and the
representative idea. The very sense-idea itself of which we are
percipient Is the external thing, so far as there is an external
thing at all. Sense-ideas are with Berkeley real and presenta-
tive; not representative images. Being themselves the external
reality, they do not require the hypothesis of an ideal medium.
Divine or other, to help us to know them. 'I am certain,'
he says, ' of that which Malebranche seems to doubt, viz.
the existence of bodies.'' The supposed meaning of Scrip-
ture or the Church, and the bare possibility that Matter may

'■^5 See Malebrauche's Recherche de la Vcrke, liv. III. ch. 2 — 6, and his Entretiens sttr la
Mi'taphydque, passim.

76 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

exist, are the only proofs of its actual existence which Male-
branche gives, unless we are to add what he calls our general
propensity to believe. The supernatural revelation of the exist-
ence of unperceived Matter Berkeley denies ; the supposed exist-
ence of a propensity to believe in a Matter of which our senses
cannot inform us is, he argues, an absurd assumption. He does
not understand how any one can be inclined to believe what is
absolutely inconceivable — what can have no meaning : for. Matter
that is out of all relation to any real sensation is inconceivable.
With him, therefore, the ideas or phenomena of sense are the
real things : real, but also ideas or ideal ; — because their existence
for all practical purposes is dependent on a mind being percipient
of them. They are the human archetypes or presentations, of
which our imaginings are the representations. ' They exist,' he
would say, ' independently of my individual mind, since I feel that
I am not their author or regulator. It is out of my power, as it is
out of the power of any finite spirit, to change at pleasure those
real ideas or sensible things. All the sense-experience in the
universe is the effect of a constant Divine energy. Sense-ideas
exist always in the Divine Will, but they are occasionally mani-
fested in the sense-experience of human minds, according to the
divinely established natural order.' In a word, Berkeley's account
of our perception of sensible things would be that it is presentative,
and doubt about what is presented is of course impossible. With
Malebranche, as understood by Berkeley, unperceived Matter serves
no purpose, even if it can be proved ; the reality of the things of
sense is sufficiently recognised without it : the Divine Ideas are
the sensible world, as far as we can have anything to do with it.
Why then, Berkeley might ask, should we assume its absolute or
neutral existence at all ?

A dispute in the Oratoire, in the autumn of 1715, might thus, on
Berkeley's side, have turned on the real and (relatively to imagina-
tion) archetypal character of our sense-ideas — on whether sense-
perception is presentative, or only representative of real things. But
Malebranche might have pressed him on another side. Berkeley's
minima sens'ibilia are not things, for 'things' are aggregates oi minima
sensibilia ,• and a knowledge of sensible things is a knowledge of the
mutual relations of the units in the aggregation, and also of the
mutual relations of the physical substances formed by these aggre-

III.] France. 77

gates. All perception of sensible things contains, in germ at least,
a scientific knowledge of sensible things. Perceptions differ from
science in degree and not in kind. In their very first beginnings
they involve scientific principle or universality. We cannot even
perceive without universalizing : we cannot apprehend sensible
phenomena without more or less distinctly comprehending them
in the unity of a principle. There can be no absolute divorce
between the phenomenal and the rational. Now, what is the
envelope of notion in which every, even the obscurest, act of
perception tends to include its sense-phenomena ? Is this envelope
in its essence Divine ? If so, may it not be said, that every inter-
pretation of sensible phenomena, every construction of a sensible
thing, in all the degrees of such interpretation or construction,
from the ordinary employment of the senses to the highest elabora-
tions of science, involves a notional or rational element, in which
we participate with God ; so that we may truly be said to be sen-
sibly percipient of things only in Divine Ideas or Notions? The
imperfection of Berkeley's doctrine of abstraction and of the
relation between thought and sensations, and his imperfect com-
prehension of Malebranche, might have appeared here.

The rumour of this conference in the cell of the Oratoire is the
only account we have of Berkeley's doings from the time of his
departure from England with young Ashe, probably in the autumn
of 1715^ till we have his own journal of his daily proceedings at
Rome in January 1717, now for the first time published, in another
part of this volume.

The year 1716 is a blank in our records of Berkeley's life -^.
Swift wrote about him to Lord Carteret, some years after this, as
having travelled over 'most parts of Europe;' and it has been said
that he once visited Cairo ^7. It is very unlikely that he was ever
out of Europe, though it is possible he may have been in Switzer-
land or the Empire — and perhaps in 17 16.

Curiously, in contrast with the darkness of the year before, 171 7

^^ In an editorial note to Swift's Parody p. 738, ed. 1843.) This is not supported

of Provost Pratt's speech to the Prince by evidence, and is hardly consistent with

of Wales, delivered in April 1 7 16, it the known circumstances, or with Swift's

is said — ' The Provost, it appears, was statement afterwards, that Berkeley was

attended by the Rev. Dr. Howard, and absent from Ireland travelling for ' above

Mr. George Berkeley (afterwards Bishop of seven years.'

Cloyne), both of them Fellows of Trinity -'' Pinkerton's Literary Corrcspon .ence.

College, Dublin.' (Swift's Worhs, vol. II. vol. II. p. 41.

78 Life and Letters of Berkeley, [ch.

is now the one year of his life in which we are best able to follow
his daily movements, and with the light thrown upon them by his
own pen. The dim vision of Berkeley and Malebranche in Paris,
in September or October 1715, is followed by a distinct picture of
Berkeley at Rome, examining the manuscripts in the Library of the
Vatican on the 7th of January 1717, and having an interview with
Cardinal Gualtieri on the following morning, along with young
Ashe. We see him, with his great ardour of observation, among the
pictures, statues, and architecture of new and old Rome, from day to
day in the remainder of that month, surrounded by companions of
whose connection with him we can tell nothing — 'Mr, Domville,'
' Mr. Hardy,^ ' Dr. Chenion,' and others. The rough, unpolished
memoranda of his journal, sometimes written in pencil, perhaps
in his carriage, have the freshness which more elaborate writing
wants and the matters which attracted his attention, with his
remarks upon them, illustrate his observant habits and extensive
reading, and the singularity of his genius. The publication of these
notes of part of his Italian tour, places Berkeley in 171 7 before
our eyes ; and, after groping for traces of him so long in the dim
twilio"ht one feels like the traveller who sees in the disentombed
remains of Herculaneum, with almost the vividness of reality, the
departed life of ancient Italy.

Berkeley sent a letter about this time to his friend Dr. Arbuthnot.
It consists of observations on an eruption from Vesuvius which he
witnessed when he was at Naples in April 1717. The physical
cause of volcanic action was, as we shall see, a subject of specu-
lation with him afterwards. The letter was communicated by
Arbuthnot to the Royal Society, and is to be found in the
Vhilosophlcal Transactions for October 1717. It is as follows : —

Extract of a letter from Mr. Edw. [George] Berkeley, giving several cu-
rious Observations and Remarks on the eruption of Fire and Smoke from
Mount Vesuvio. Communicated by John Arbuthnot, M.D., R.S.S. : —

April 17, 17 17.

With much difficulty I reached the top of INIount Vesuvius, in which
I saw a vast aperture full of smoke, which hindered the seeing its depth
and figure. I heard within that horrid gulf certain odd sounds, which
seemed to proceed from the belly of the mountain ; a sort of murmuring,
sighing, throbbing, churning, dashing (as it were) of waves, and between
whiles a noise, like that of thunder or cannon, which was constantlv

ill.] Italy. 79

attended with a clattering like that of tiles falling from the tops of
houses on the streets. Sometimes, as the wind changed, the smoke
grew thinner, discovering a very ruddy flame, and the jaws of the pan or
crater streaked with red and several shades of yellow. After an hour's
stay, the smoke, being moved by the wind, gave us short and partial
prospects of the great hollow, in the flat bottom of which I could discern
two furnaces almost contiguous: that on the left, seeming about three
yards in diameter, glowed with red flame, and threw up red-hot stones
with a hideous noise, which, as they fell back, caused the fore-mentioned
clattering. May 8, in the morning, I ascended to the top of Vesuvius
a second time, and found a different face of things. The smoke ascend-
ing upright gave a full prospect of the crater, which, as I could judge,
is about a mile in circumference, and an hundred yards deep. A conical
mount had been formed since my last visit, in the middle of the bottom :
this mount, I could see, was made of the stones thrown up and fallen
back again into the crater. In this new hill remained the two mounts
or furnaces already mentioned : that on our left was in the vertex of the
hill which it had formed round it, and raged more violently than before,
throwing up, every three or four minutes, with a dreadful bellowing, a vast
number of red-hot stones, sometimes in appearance above a thousand,
and at least three thousand feet higher than my head as I stood upon the
brink : but, there being little or no wind, they fell back perpendicularly
into the crater, increasing the conical hill. The other mouth to the right
was lower in the side of the same new-formed hill. I could discern it
to be filled with red-hot liquid matter, like that in the furnace of a glass-
house, which raged and wrought as the waves of the sea, causing a short
abrupt noise like what may be imagined to proceed from a sea of quick-
silver dashing among uneven rocks. This stuff would sometimes spew
over and run down the convex side of the conical hill ; and appearing at
first red-hot, it changed colour, and hardened as it cooled, shewing the
first rudiments of an eruption, or, if I may say so, an eruption in minia-
ture. Had the wind driven in our faces, we had been in no small
danger of stifling by the sulphureous smoke, or being knocked on the
head by lumps of molten minerals, which we saw had sometimes fallen
on the brink of the crater, upon those shots from the gulf at the bottom.
But, as the wind was favourable, I had an opportunity to survey this odd
scene for above an hour and a half together ; during which it was very
observable that all the volleys of smoke, flame, and burning stones, came
only out of the hole to our left, while the liquid stuff" in the other mouth
wrought and overflowed, as hath been already described. June 5th, after
an horrid noise, the mountain was seen at Naples to spew a little out of

8o Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

the crater. The same conthiued the 6th. The 7th, nothing was ob-
served till within two hours of night, when it began a hideous bellowing,
which continued all that night and the next day till noon, causing the
windows, and, as some affirm, the very houses in Naples to shake.
From that time it spewed vast quantities of molten stuff to the south,
which streamed down the mountain like a great pot boiling over. This
evening I returned from a voyage through Apulia, and was surprised,
passing by the north side of the mountain, to see a great quantity of
ruddy smoke lie along a huge tract of sky over the river of molten stuff,
which was itself out of sight. The 9th, Vesuvius raged less violently :
that night we saw from Naples a column of fire shoot between whiles out
of its summit. The loth, when we thought all would have been over,
the mountain grew very outrageous again, roaring and groaning most
dreadfully. You cannot form a juster idea of this noise in the most
violent fits of it, than by imagining a mixed sound made up of the raging
of a tempest, the murmur of a troubled sea, and the roaring of thunder
and artillery, confused all together. It was very terrible as we heard it
in the further end of Naples, at the distance of above twelve miles : this
moved my curiosity to approach the mountain. Three or four of us got
into a boat, and were set ashore at Torre del Greco, a town situate at
the foot of Vesuvius to the south-west, whence we rode four or five miles
before we came to the burning river, which was about midnight. The
roaring of the volcano grew exceeding loud and horrible as we ap-
proached. I observed a mixture of colours in the cloud over the crater,
green, yellow, red, and blue ; there was likewise a ruddy dismal light in
the air over that tract of land where the burning river flowed ; ashes
continually showered on us all the way from the sea-coast : all which
circumstances, set off and augmented by the horror and silence of the
night, made a scene the most uncommon and astonishing I ever saw,
which grew still more extraordinary as we came nearer the stream.
Imagine a vast torrent of liquid fire rolling from the top down the side
of the mountain, and with irresistible fury bearing down and consuming
vines, olives, fig-trees, houses ; in a word, every thing that stood in its
way. This mighty flood divided into different channels, according to
the inequalities of the mountain : the largest stream seemed half a mile
broad at least, and five miles long. The nature and consistence of
these burning torrents hath been described with so much exactness and
truth by Borellus in his Latin treatise of Mount ^tna, that I need say
nothing of it. I walked so far before my companions up the mountain,
along the side of the river of fire, that I was obliged to retire in great
haste, the sulphureous stream having surprised me, and almost taken

in.] Italy. 8i

away my breath. During our return, which was about three o'clock in
the morning, we constantly heard the murmur and groaning of the
mountain, which between whiles would burst out into louder peals,
throwing up huge spouts of fire and burning stones, which falling down
again, resembled the stars in our rockets. Sometimes I observed two,
at others three, distinct columns of flames ; and sometimes one vast one
that seemed to fill the whole crater. These burning columns and the
fiery stones seemed to be shot looo feet perpendicular above the summit
of the volcano. The nth, at night, I observed it, from a terrass in
Naples^ to throw up incessantly a vast body of fire, and great stones
to a surprising height. The 1 2th, in the morning, it darkened the sun
with ashes and smoke, causing a sort of eclipse. Horrid bellowings,
this and the foregoing day, were heard at Naples, whither part of the
ashes also reached. At night I observed it throwing up flame, as on the
nth. On the 13th, the wind changing, we saw a pillar of black smoke
shot upright to a prodigious height. At night I observed the mount cast
up fire as before, though not so distinctly, because of the smoke. The
14th, a thick black cloud hid the mountain from Naples. The 15th, in
the morning, the court and walls of our house in Naples were covered
with ashes. The i6th, the smoke was driven by a westerly wind from
the town to the opposite side of the mountain. The 17 th, the smoke
appeared much diminished, fat and greasy. The i8th, the whole ap-
pearance ended; the mountain remaining perfectly quiet without any
visible smoke or flame. A gentleman of my acquaintance, whose
window looked towards Vesuvius, assured me that he observed several
flashes, as it were of lightning, issue out of the mouth of the volcano.
It is not worth while to trouble you with the conjectures I have formed
concerning the cause of these phsenomena, from what I observed in the
Lacus Amsatidi, the Sol/atara, &c., as well as in Mount Vesuvius. One
thing I may venture to say, that I saw the fluid matter rise out of the
centre of the bottom of the crater, out of the very middle of the moun-
tain, contrary to what Borellus imagines ; whose method of explaining
the eruption of a volcano by an inflexed syphon and the rules of hydro-
statics, is likewise inconsistent with the torrent's flowing down from the
very vertex of the mountain. I have not seen the crater since the
eruption, but design to visit it again before I leave Naples. I doubt
there is nothing in this worth shewing the Society : as to that, you will

use your discretion,

E. (it should be G.) BERKELEY.

Berkeley was at Naples in April. For May and June, we have

VOL. IV. G

82 Life mid Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

the notes of his excursions in the south of Italy, now published in
his Journal. In the progress of his tour, his curiosity led him into
several unfrequented places in Apulia and Calabria.

The tarantula dance, and the singular phenomena of tarantism,
here engaged his attention. The tarantula is a large spider, found
near Taranto, and in other parts of Italy, especially in Apulia and
Calabria. Its bite, followed sometimes by frightful pathological
symptoms, was said to be cured by music, which moved the patient
to dance, often for hours. It has been said that some persons not
cured by music, have danced till they died. This mania is supposed
to originate in an animal poison, which produces an epidemic
nervous disease that affects the imagination. Besides sympathy
with music, a passion for red and green colours, and an aversion
for blue and black, are among the symptoms of tarantism.

This was a subject which, as might be expected, he was fond
of investigating j and it is often referred to in his journals, which
contain some curious evidence in confirmation of the alleged disease
and its cure -^.

We have some notes of his journal in September 1717. In October
he was again at Naples, where he wrote the following interesting
letter to Pope: —

Naples, Oct. 22, N. S. 17 17.

I HAVE long had it in my thoughts to trouble you with a letter, but
was discouraged for want of something that I could think worth sending
fifteen hundred miles. Italy is such an exhausted subject that, I dare
say, you 'd easily forgive my saying nothing of it ; and the imagination
of a poet is a thing so nice and delicate that it is no easy matter to find
out images capable of giving pleasure to one of the few, who (in an\-
age) have come up to that character. I am nevertheless lately returned
from an island where I passed three or four months ; which, were it set
out in its true colours, might, methinks, amuse you agreeably enough for
a minute or two.

The island Inarime is an epitome of the whole earth, containing
within the compass of eighteen miles, a wonderful variety of hills,
vales, ragged rocks, fruitful plains, and barren mountains, all thrown
together in a most romantic confusion. The air is, in the hottest

'" See various entries in May and Jime The discharge of the innammatory fluid.
1717. He sent Dr. Friend an account of produced by dancing, was Dr. Mead's ex-
the nervous dance caused by the tarantula. planation of the physical cause of the cure.

III.] Italy. 83

season, constantly refreshed by cool breezes from the sea. The vales
produce excellent wheat and Indian corn, but are mostly covered with
vineyards intermixed with fruit-trees. Besides the common kinds, as
cherries, apricots, peaches, &c., they produce oranges, limes, almonds,
pomegranates, figs, water-melons, and many other fruits unknown to our
climates, which lie every where open to the passenger. The hills are the
greater part covered to the top with vines, some with chesnut groves,
and others with thickets of myrtle and lentiscus. The fields in the
northern side are divided by hedgerows of myrtle. Several fountains
and rivulets add to the beauty of this landscape, which is likewise set
off by the variety of some barren spots and naked rocks. But that
which crowns the scene, is a large mountain rising out of the middle
of the island, (once a terrible volcano, by the ancients called Mons
Epomeus). Its lower parts are adorned with vines and other fruits ; the
middle affords pasture to flocks of goats and sheep; and the top is
a sandy pointed rock, from which you have the finest prospect in the
world, surveying at one view, besides several pleasant islands lying at
your feet, a tract of Italy about three hundred miles in length, from the
promontory of Antium to the Cape of Palinurus : the greater part of
which hath been sung by Homer and Virgil, as making a considerable
part of the travels and adventures of their two heroes. The islands Caprea,
Prochyta, and Parthenope, together with Cajeta, Cumae, Monte Miseno,
the habitations of Circe, the Syrens, and the Lsestrigones, the bay of
Naples, the promontary of Minerva, and the whole Campagnia felice,
make but a part of this noble landscape ; which would demand an
imagination as warm and numbers as flowing as your own, to describe
it. The inhabitants of this delicious isle, as they are without riches and
honours, so are they without the vices and follies that attend them ; and
were they but as much strangers to revenge as they are to avarice and
ambition, they might in fact answer the poetical notions of the golden
age. But they have got, as an alloy to their happiness, an ill habit of
murdering one another on slight offences. We had an instance of this
the second night after our arrival, a youth of eighteen being shot dead
by our door : and yet by the sole secret of minding our own business,
we found a means of living securely among those dangerous people.

Would you know how we pass the time at Naples ? Our chief enter-
tainment is the devotion of our neighbours. Besides the gaiety of their
churches (where folks go to see what they call una hella Devolmte, i. e.
a sort of religious opera), they make fireworks almost every week out of
devotion ; the streets are often hung with arras out of devotion ; and
(what is still more strange) the ladies invite gentlemen to their houses,

G 2

84 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

and treat them with music and sweetmeats, out of devotion : in a word,
were it not for this devotion of its inhabitants, Naples would have little
else to recommend it beside the air and situation.

Learning is in no very thriving state here, as indeed nowhere else in
Italy ; however, among many pretenders, some men of taste are to be
met with. A friend of mine told me not long since that, being to visit
Salvini^** at Florence, he found him reading your Homer: he liked the
notes extremely, and could find no other fault with the version, but that
he thought it approached too near a paraphrase ; which shews him not to
be sufficiently acquainted with our language. I wish you health to go
on with that noble work ; and when you have that, I need not wish you
success. You will do me the justice to believe, that whatever relates to
your welfare is sincerely wished by your, &c.

From an allusion elsew^here ^^, he seems to have visited the
Grotto del Cane, near Naples. References to his Italian experi-
ence and friends, and to the ancient and modern literature of Italy,
may be found in various places in his writings.

In August 1717 we have a sign of an intention to prolong the
tour, in a renewal of his leave from Trinity College, 'to travel
and remain abroad.' The Queen^s letter was on this occasion
signed by Joseph Addison, then Secretary of State. In the pre-
ceding month he had been elected a Senior Fellow in his absence,
when Dr. Baldwin, the Vice-Provost, was made Provost.

We have some of the notes of his movements in Italy in 1718.
He appears to have been also in Sicily in that year, when it is said
that he travelled over the island on foot^^. Sicily attracted his
attention very much. He collected materials for a natural history
of the island, which, with his journal there, were unfortunately lost
in the passage back to Naples. The rare union of subtle and
original speculation, with extraordinary inquisitiveness about the
minute phenomena of nature and industrial life, so conspicuous in
Berkeley, deepen our regret for the loss of documents which might
have further illustrated his disposition, though they probably con-

""^ Cf. note 16, p. 71. Salvini was fond having felt an earthquake at Messina, 'in

of English literature, and translated Addison's I 718.' The pedestrian journey is mentioned

Cato, among other works. by Dr. Blackwell in his Memoirs of the Court

^ Cf. Siris, sect. 144. of Augustus, vol. II. pp. 277 — 278. See also

" In a letter, in 1745, he mentions Warto/t on Pope, vol. II. p. 261.

111.] France. 85

tained few scientific facts that are not now common -place, or novel
inferences that modern science would be ready to accept.

Bishop Ashe, the father of his pupil, died on the 27th of February
1718, but it does not appear that this affected Berkeley's move-
ments ^2^

Berkeley is invisible during 1719. The Register of Trinity
College, records that on the 5th of June 1719, a renewed leave
of absence for two years was granted to him. He was, we may
assume, still in Italy. Before he left it, he met for the first time
Martin Benson, afterwards Bishop of Gloucester, who was for
nearly thirty years one of his most loved friends. Benson was
then travelling in Italy, as Lord Pomfret's chaplain.

Berkeley returned through France on his way back to England,
apparently in 1720.

One incident in the homeward journey shows that he con-
tinued to unfold the philosophy which absorbed his thoughts
some ten years before, at Trinity College, and at the commence-
ment of his wanderings in France and Italy. He set out on his
travels immediately after he had published the Three Dialogues
on the nature of the material world. He was about to end them
when he published a Latin work. Be Motu^ which is actually an
essay on Power and Causation. According to the earlier treatise,
ideas of sense, in the first place, and at last Divine Ideas, are the
archetypes of our knowledge ; according to the later. Divine and
other voluntary activity is the one efficient cause of motion in the
world of the senses.

The Be Motu is an application to sensible changes and causation
of one phase of Berkeley's implied Principle ; in the same way as
the Btalogues are an application of the same Principle, in another
phase, to sensible qualities. The former was intended for the
scientifically initiated, and was written in Latin. The Btalogues
were for the multitude, and were written in graceful English.
The philosophy of physical science was considered in the Be
Motu, which also recommended a distribution of the sciences.
It shows more learned research than his earlier writings,

^^ Young Ashe, Berkeley's pupil, died in 1 72 1.

S6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

This Latin disquisition was prepared at Lyons— one of Berke-
ley's resting-places, we may conjecture, on his way home. The
subject had been proposed in 1720 by the Royal Academy of
Sciences at Paris. The essay may have been presented when he
arrived there.

Unfortunately, in this case, as in that of the interview with
Malebranche, documentary evidence which might supply inter-
esting details is wanting. I am indebted to M. Alfred Maury,
and to the Abbe Rabbe, for researches made at my request among
the manuscript remains of that learned Society, which even in
Berkeley's time could boast of some of the most eminent names
in Europe. Many of the papers, especially the Memoirs, disap-
peared, it seems, at the Revolution. The record that remains
of the proceedings about the year 1720 is very meagre. The
collection of pieces which carried off the prizes of the Academy
commences, however, in that year. The prize for 1720 was con-
ferred on M. Crousaz (afterwards author of the well-known work
on Logic, and Professor of Philosophy at Lausanne), for the Discours
sur la Nature.^ le Frinctpe et la Communication du Mowvement ^^. The
second prize was awarded to M. Massy. Berkeley's name is not
mentioned. His failure in this competition (if indeed his disser-
tation was actually presented for competition) need not surprise us,
when we consider the characteristic boldness with which, in his
De MotUj he subverts received notions of causation, and makes
war on ontological theories then in great strength in France. To
represent mechanics as a science of divinely constituted signs,
not of proper causes — to maintain that God is the Mover in the
sensible universe — and to resolve space (so far as it has any
positive existence) into relations of our concrete sensations — thus
denying that it has necessary uncreated existence — was too foreign
to the then established conceptions of a conclave of mathema-
ticians and natural philosophers to find favour in their eyes. The
vigorous, but rather commonplace, good sense of Crousaz, un-
distinguished by original speculative ability, was more adapted to
the circumstances.

After an absence of about five years, Berkeley returned to
England. The precise date does not appear, but it may have

^' Crousaz (1663—1749) was. nearly sixty years old when this Discourse was written.

III.] England. 87

been towards the end of 1720. It is not likely that he had
then any intention of soon returning to Dublin, as his leave of
absence was renewed, for the fourth time, on the 24th of June
1721.

He found London and all England in the agitation and misery
consequent upon the failure of the South Sea Scheme. This occa-
sioned one of his most characteristic productions as an author.
He now addressed himself for the first time publicly to questions of
social economy. If I am not mistaken, the deep impression which
the English catastrophe of 1720 made upon him was connected
with the project of social idealism which, as we shall see, filled
and determined his life in its middle period.

The conduct and failure of this South Sea Scheme was one of
several symptoms of a dangerous declension in the tone of public
morals in England. On credible report, it seems that the state of
society, at least in London, soon after the accession of the House
of Hanover, was hardly less corrupt than in the period which
followed the Restoration, while it wanted the literary and scien-
tific brilliancy which shed lustre on the reign of Charles II.
Political corruption and contempt of religion were common among
the wealthy and fashionable. The South Sea proposals raised ex-
travagant expectations of a secular millennium. The 'growth of
atheism, profaneness, and immorality,' was the formula among
Bishops and other ecclesiastics ; and the language was adopted
by leading members in both Houses of Parliament.

This great commercial enterprise brought latent evils to a visible
crisis, and disease in the body politic could not be concealed.
It revealed a morbid eagerness to share in the possible pro-
fits of hazardous speculation, intense and wide-spread to an
extent that England had never before seen. Trusting to the
greed for gain, and pushing credit to its utmost extent, the Com-
pany, in the spring of 1720, undertook the responsibility of the
National Debt, at that time amounting to above thirty millions
sterling. The proposal was accepted by both Houses of Parlia-
ment, by large majorities, in the month of April, against the
remonstrances of Walpole. The Company's stock rose to 330
in the course of that month. In May it reached 550, and in
June 890. It attained its maximum of 1000 in the beginning

88 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

of August, when the Chairman and principal Directors sold out.
An unprecedented panic followed. The shares fell rapidly. A
collapse of social credit was imminent. Parliament was hastily
summoned in November. A financial adjustment was at last
made, and credit slowly returned with the new year.

Berkeley found himself in this national turmoil. He was
shocked by the tone of social morality, which so appallingly greeted
him on his return. Probably his active imagination and en-
thusiastic temperament exaggerated the symptoms. We know
more about these things now : commercial speculation was then
a novelty in the nation. His ardent thoughts found vent in
the Essay towards preventing the Ruin of Great Britain^ which was
published in London in 1721^^.

The Essay is the lamentation of an ardent social idealist over the
effete civilisation of England and the Old World. We are undone,
is the spirit of his language, and lost to all sense of our true
interest. If we are to be saved at all, it must be by the persons
who compose society becoming individually industrious, frugal,
public spirited, and religious. This, and not any royal road, is
the way to safety, if there is any way at all. Sumptuary laws, he
thought, might do something. Public amusements might be regu-
lated. Masquerades might be prohibited. The drama, which was
a school of morals and good sense to the ancient world, and to
England in a former generation, might perhaps be reformed. The
fine arts might be made, as in other countries, to inspire the com-
munity with great thoughts and generous feelings. But till selfish-
ness and sensuality were superseded in individuals by public spirit
and religious love and reverence, mere legislation appeared to him
hopeless. In the South Sea affair he saw, not the root of the evil,
but merely one of many external symptoms, resulting from those
tendencies to social dissolution, which for a generation had been
sapping the strength of society in Western Europe, and espe-
cially in these islands.

Though this tract is but a fragment in Berkeley's miscellaneous
writings, it should have an important place in a study of the

^* Cf. Swift's verses on the South Sea and his health, and retired to Hampstead in

Project. Several of Berkeley's set were in- 1722, where he was restored by the care of

volved in South Sea speculation ; among Arbuthnot.
others, Gay the poet, who lost his fortune

III.] Englmid. 89

growth of his character and social conceptions. ' Let us be
industrious, frugal, and religious, if we are to be saved at all,' is
its advice. * There is little hope of our becoming any of these,'
is its prediction. It is the Cassandra wail of a sorrowful prophet,
preparing to shake the dust from his feet, and to transfer his eye
of hope to other regions, and to a less deliberately corrupted
society.

The summer of 1721 found Berkeley still in England. His
travels had added to his social charms, and he found ready admis-
sion to the best society in London. The London of 1721 was of
course changed from the London of 17 15. Addison had passed
away in 1719, and Matthew Prior in 1721. Swift was in Dublin,
and Steele was broken in health and fortune. But Pope was at
Twickenham, Arbuthnot was in town, and Atterbury was at his
deanery in Westminster or among the elms at Bromley. Clarke, as
formerly, was preaching sermons in the parish church of St. James's,
and Sherlock was Master of the Temple. One likes to linger
looking at them all.

The following letter from Pope to Berkeley '■'''> is without a
sufficient date. Perhaps it belongs to the spring of 1721. At
any rate, it illustrates his friendly relations with the poet, and
with the 'turbulent' Atterbury, who had 'exhausted hyperbole'
in his praise.

Sunday.
Dear Sir,

My Lord Bishop ^^ was very much concerned at missing you yesterday ;
he desired me to engage you and myself to dine with him this day, but
I was unluckily pre-engaged. And (upon my telling him I should carry
you out of town to-morrow, and hoped to keep you till the end of the
week) he has desired that we will not fail to dine with him next Sunday,
when he will have no other company.

I write this to intreat that you will provide yourself of linen and other
necessaries sufficient for the week ; for, as I take you to be almost the
only friend I have that is above the little vanities of the town, I expect

^' See Letters, ttc , including the Corre- ^^ Atterbury, who was banished in 1722;

spondence of John Hughes, Esq., vol. II. but much of his correspondence with Pope
p. I. was about this time. Cf. p. 59-

90 Life and Letters oj Berkeley. [cH.

you may be able to renounce it for one week, and to make trial how you
like my Tusculum, because I assure you it is no less yours, and hope
you will use it as your own country villa in the ensuing season.

I am, faithfully yours,

A. POPE.

It was about this time that Berkeley became familiar with
persons whose intimacy and correspondence in later years were
among the consolations of his advancing life. His friendship with
Martin Benson, who was afterwards Bishop of Gloucester, and
with Seeker, v/ho was afterwards successively Bishop of Bristol and
Bishop of Oxford, and who ended a sagacious old age on the archi-
episcopal throne at Lambeth, probably dates from 1721. Rundle,
afterwards bishop of Derry, was an intimate of all the three.
They are conjoined in Pope's well-known lines ^7 —

' Even in a Bishop I can spy desert ;
Seeker is decent, Rundle has a heart :
Manners with candour are to Benson given,
To Berkeley every virtue under heaven.'

Benson, as already mentioned, he met in Italy. Benson and
Seeker became intimate in Paris in 1720, and both returned
to England early in the following year. Seeker was ordained
in 1722, and he mentions ^s that a short time before his ordi-
nation he became acquainted with ' Dr. Clarke of St. James's,
and with Berkeley afterwards Bishop of Cloyne.' Seeker and
Butler were trained together in the Dissenting Academy at
Tewkesbury, where Butler wrote the letters to Clarke which
Seeker carried to the post-office at Gloucester. Butler, too, was now
in London, delivering, at the Rolls Chapel in Chancery Lane,
those profound moral discourses, so full of penetrating practical
wisdom, which have formed an era in the history of ethical specu-
lation in England, and have been studied by successive genera-
tions of young moral philosophers. Berkeley was thus again
brought into connection with Clarke, and met with the grave
and weighty moral preacher at the Rolls — the two most notable
English philosophical thinkers of the time.

3' Epilogue to the Satires, Dial. II. 70 permission to examine which I am indebted
(published in I 738). to the kindness of the Archbishop of Cau-

•■'*' In his MSS. preserved at Lambeth, for terbury.

III.] England. g i

It may have been during this stay in England that he met
the Earl of Pembroke ''", to whom, more than ten years before,
he had dedicated his Frinciples of Human Knowledge. The Earl
was the friend of Swift; and in the latter part of his life he
was the friend of Berkeley, who was a welcome visitor at his
magnificent seat at Wilton. It was at this time, too, that he was
introduced by Pope to Boyle, Earl of Burlington and Cork, cele-
brated as the architectural nobleman, to whose professional taste
so many good buildings in London and in the country are due —
who designed Burlington House in Piccadilly, and who repaired
St. Paul's in Covent Garden, the design of Inigo Jones —

' Who plants like Bathurst, or who builds like Boyle ? '

The name of Boyle is illustrious in the history of human pro-
gress, the architectural Earl of Burlington inherited the ancestral
love of science and of art. Berkeley's kindred taste and skill,
fostered in Italy, was a bond between them. According to
Warton *'^, he gained the patronage and friendship of this noble-
man ' not only by his true politeness and the peculiar charms of
his conversation, which was exquisite, but by his profound and
perfect skill in architecture ; an art which he had very particularly
studied in Italy, when he went abroad with Mr. Ashe, son of the
Bishop of Clogher, and where, with an insatiable and philosophic
attention, he surveyed every object of interest.'

By the Earl of Burlington, Berkeley was recommended to
Charles, second Duke of Grafton. In August 1721, the Duke
was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. Berkeley went in his
suite as one of his chaplains, and returned once more to the Irish
capital.

^ Thomas, eighth Earl of Pembroke, the Ireland. He succeeded his brother Philip in
friend of Locke, who dedicated his Essay to 1683, and died in 1733.
him. He held high offices in England and " -Essa>'0« Po/)e, vol. H. p. 260; also p. 235,

CHAPTER IV.

IRELAND AND ENGLAND.
ACADEMICO-PHILOSOPHICAL ENTHUSIASM ABOUT AMERICA.

1721 — 1728.

Berkeley was now in his thirty-seventh year. Without pre-
ferment in the Church, and with leave of absence from his
College, he had been a wanderer out of Ireland for more than
eight years. He now returned for a time to the scenes of his
youth, soon to leave them again. A new ideal was about to
kindle and sustain an enthusiasm which shaped his course in
several following years. At an age when ordinary men try to
have their places settled in the routine of the social system^ we
find him a knight-errant of academic life and religious civi-
lisation in America, ready to sacrifice the intellectual refinement
and conventional dignities of the Old World in which he had
grown into manhood.

Berkeley's return to Dublin seems to have been sudden. On
the 24th of June 1721, his leave of absence from College, as we
have seen, was prolonged for two years. Yet about two months
afterwards we find him in Ireland, which there is no evidence that
he had visited since he left it in the spring of 1713.

Berkeley's place of residence in JJ2), and the two following
years, has hitherto been doubtful and disputed. In the Gentleman's
Magazine for December 1776, it is denied that Berkeley 'ever
went to Ireland as Chaplain to the Duke of Grafton, or any other
Lord Lieutenant.' That there is no ground for the denial is
proved by the following letter^, hitherto unpublished, and now
printed according to the original : —

* For this valuable letter I am indebted is not given, but, from internal evidence,
to Mr. Malcomson, of Carlow, who now there can be no doubt that it was writ-
possesses the original manuscript. The ten in 1 72 1. It is addressed, 'For Robert
heraldic Berkeley seal is used. The year Nelson, Esq., at Berkeley House in St. John's

Dublin. 93

From y' Court of Ireland, October 6, [17 21].

I THANKE you for your kind letter, Deare Brother Nelson, though you
and ye postmaster did not agree in y*^ date, ther being 20 days differ-
ence. This hath puzled me a little as to y® time of your housekeeping ;
but I hope you keepe your old quarters, and are now settled at
St. James to your content. I have bin a fortnight in ye Castle : but
excepting a little difference in ye hangings of my chamber, and its being
seated upon ye first story, I find Jack Hafe and George Berkeley are
Brother Chaplains, and equally considered. We both rise at 6 o'clock,
in our waiting week, to pray with ye family. At 1 1 we give his Grace
solemne Prayers, and at 9 after supper the bell rings againe. Besides
ourselves, there is another Chaplaine, who not living in ye house, we are
faine to rise for him and supply his turne in ye morning. I have ye
honour to sit at ye lower end of my L<i'« table (w^. is no great matter), as
also to sup always with ye Steward when I am not in waiting, and often
dine there. But a good Deanry will easily make amends for ye
lessening my quality; though I could wish his Majesty had told me
his mind of removing Church Preferment from ye Commissioners before
I came out of England. But as it is, God's will be done. My L'l
Duke and I are at a great distance here, so not many words passe
between us. He made me once a very low cringe at St John's, but if
he will stoope now to do me a reale kindnesse it will be much better.
Thus you have a short account of my affairs. I never drunk or saw
any usquebah since I came into Ireland, though I have bin at many
tables and civilly used in a sober way without impoting : if any thing
material doth happen in my concerns, I will send you word. In ye
meane while, I am,

Most affectionately,

Your humble Servant,

GEORGE BERKELEY.
My kind love to your wife and y® rest of your friends.

The same writer in the Gentleman s Magazine asserts, in
opposition to the author of the book he is reviewing, that *■ Berkeley
never took the degrees of Bachelor and Doctor of Divinity, though

Lane, neare Smithfield, London.' It may be Fasts, and of the Life of Bishop Bull who

conjectured that Berkeley's correspondent was married Theophila, widow of Sir Kingsniill

a son, or other near relative, of the pious Lucy, and daughter of the Earl of Berkeley,

Robert Nelson, author of the Festivals and and who died in 1715-

94 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

here [i.e. in the anonymous Life of Berkeley which appeared in
J 776] the very day is mentioned, viz. Nov. 14, 1721. The fact
is, he was elected D.D. by his College per saltum in 17 17, during
his absence in Italy 2.' Now, the Registry of Trinity College
informs us that 'on November 14, 1721, Mr. Berkeley had the
grace of the House, for the Degree of Bachelor and Doctor of
Divinity.'

Other academical appointments followed, according to the
academical record. On the 20th of November 172 1, ' Dr. Berkeley
was nominated Divinity Lecturer^ (on Archbishop King's founda-
tion) • and on the same day he was appointed University Preacher.'
As already mentioned, he was Junior Greek Lecturer in 1712, and
now the record bears that on 'November 21, 1721, Dr. Berkeley
having resigned the office of Senior Greek Lecturer, Mr. Delany
was chosen thereto.'

Thus, at the commencement of 1722 Berkeley was Chaplain
to the Lord Lieutenant, and a Senior Fellow, in official employ-
ment at Trinity College as Lecturer in Divinity and as University
Preacher.

Although the ordinary biographies of Berkeley have been chiefly
a record of his ecclesiastical preferments, they have omitted one
recorded promotion. In February 1722, it seems that he was
nominated to the Deanery of Dromore. The Patent is dated on
the loth day of that month, in the Record of Royal Presentations
in the Patent Rolls of Chancery in Ireland; and on the 16th
February, in the same Record, we have ' George Berkeley, Dean
of Dromore.'

It is curious that this preferment does not seem to have affected
Berkeley's Fellowship or his other University offices, which he
retained as before. It does not appear that he ever went to
Dromore, nor can I find any contemporary recognition of him as
holding the ecclesiastical rank of Dean during these years. The
Duke of Grafton must have left Dublin for some months in 1722,
for in February the Archbishop of Dublin, Viscount Shannon, and
William Connolly, Esq., were sworn Lords Justices j and Berkeley

^ See Getit. Mag. vol. XLVI. p. 569. at six per cent. It was probably about £30.

' In 17:2 — 23, the annua] salary of In 1 761 the office was made a Regius Pro-
Archbishop King's Lecturer in Divinity was fessorship.
the interest of £500, which may be taken

IV.] Dublin. 95

may thus have lost his temporary chaplaincy at a time when this
vacant Deanery offered itself. His connection with it is, on the
whole, however, rather puzzling. It was an office which imposed
no statutory labour, however, not even residence. The Cathedral
of Dromore was a parish church, and no Dean resided there. The
endowments were from the rectoral tithes of several parishes.
About fifty years ago, the income was about fourteen hundred
pounds, and we may suppose that in Berkeley's time it was
proportionally lucrative "*.

On the 4th of June, 1722, 'the places of Catechist and Hebrew
Lecturer in Trinity College becoming vacant by the resignation of
Dr. Walmsley, Dr. Delany was chosen Catechist, and Dr. Berkeley
Hebrew Lecturer.' This Hebrew Lectureship, which he held for
nearly two years, added about forty pounds to Berkeley's income ■''.
In November 1722, he was also made Senior Proctor.

In 1 722, accordingly, Berkeley seems to have been chiefly
employed in College work, having an income as Hebrew Lecturer,
as Senior Proctor, and as one of the Senior Fellows ''. We may
imagine that he was at this time occasionally in the society of
his old and steady friend at the Deanery of St. Patrick's. That
he revisited England we learn from a letter of Gay to Swift,
dated London, December 22, 1722. 'Whomsoever I see that
comes from Ireland,' Gay writes, ' the first question I ask is after

* As to the duties of the Dean of Dro- Arts. The original statutes of Trinity Col-
more, the following extract from the Parlia- lege imposed the duty of lecturing in Hebrew
mentary return for 1834 may suffice : — 'The and Greek upon the same person. For the
Deanery of the Cathedral Church of Christ history of the Chair, see Dublin Univenity

the Redeemer of Dromore There are Commission Report, p. 56. The salary

no duties, neither is there any house of resi- in Berkeley's time was about forty pounds,

dence assigned to this dignitary.' It can The Senior Proctor received a portion of the

hardly have been one of the ' hedge fees paid for the higher Degrees. His share

deaneries' of which Swift writes in one of in 1722 — 23 seems to have been about

his letters. 'We have several of them,' forty-five pounds.

he says. ' in Ireland.' It appears from Berkeley's sources of College income

Cotton that there was some question about during these years were thus : — (l) Salary as

the patronage of the Dromore deanery. Senior Fellow; (2) The emoluments of the

^ From the Library Register it seems that above-mentioned offices ; (3) Commutation

Berkeley borrowed a Hebrew Bible I 711 — granted for conmions and other indulgences:

12, which shows he was then working at (4) Special premium voted for satisfactory

Hebrew. discharge of offices. In all, perhaps he had

" A Lecture in Hebrew was established in about a hundred and fifty pounds, equivalent
the University at a very early period, but to four or five hundred now. Though no-
there was no foundation or endowment for its minally Tutor, he does not appear to have
permanent maintenance, although an exami- taught pupils in that capacity after I 71 2.
nation in Hebrew was at that time necessary The deanery of Dromore nnist have added
for the Degrees of Bachelor and Master of considerably to his emoluments.

96 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

your health; of which I had the pleasure to hear very lately from
Mr. Berkeley ^'

A romantic incident, with which Swift is closely connected,
belongs to Berkeley's history in 1723. It might have severed
him from Swift, but it did not. It added fortune to the prefer-
ment of which he was already in possession, and it strengthened
his resources for carrying out philanthropic plans in which he was
then indulging in imagination. The circumstances in which the
fortune came to him show his power of permanently touching even
those who met him casually with a sense of the extraordinary
beauty of his character.

The name of Mrs. Vanhomrigh occasionally occurs, it may be
remembered, in Swift's Journal to Stella. She was the widow of
Bartholomew Vanhomrigh, a Dutch merchant *. Her daughter
Esther was the celebrated Vanessa, whose relation to Swift is one
of the mysteries of that strange life. It seems that in the spring
of 1 7 13, when Swift was opening Berkeley's way into London, he
carried him one day incidentally to dine at the house of Vanessa.
He was certainly not a frequent visitor there. We have the evi-
dence of Mrs. Berkeley, in the Biographia Brltannica^ that ' her
husband never dined but once at the house of Mrs. Vanhomrigh,
and that was only by chance.' This too, he has been heard to say,
was 'the first and last time in his life in which he ever saw Vanessa.'

Vanessa died in May 1723. Some years before her death,
having lost her mother, she removed with her sister from London
to Ireland, and in 1717 took up her abode on her little property
of Marley Abbey, near Cellridge, a pleasant village ten miles
west of Dublin, probably in the hope of enjoying the society of
the man to whom her heart was given. Swift had attracted her
in London; he now tried to repel her by indifference in Ireland.
Her impetuous temper and active imagination drove her to
desperation, when she discovered the Dean's connection with
Stella, to whom he had been privately married by Dr. Ashe,
Bishop of Clogher, in the garden of the Deanery, in the spring
of 1716''. The death of her sister in 1720 seems to have

' Swift's Correspondence. Life of Dean Swift' (p. xxxvi), in the

* A certain ' Bart. Vanhomrigh ' was Lord Literary Relics, where this incident is re-
Mayor of Dublin in 1697 — 98. lated on the authority of Bishop Berkeley.

* See Monck Berkeley's ' Inquiry into the

IV.] Dithlin. 97

added force to her unfortunate passion, and at the same time to
have increased Swift's reserve. But she brought the matter to a
crisis when she wrote to ask Stella the nature of her connection
with Swift. Stella forwarded the letter to the Dean, and in reply
informed Vanessa of his marriage. Swift hurried to Marley Abbey
and flung the letter on the table. The tragical issue is known 'o.
Her heart was crushed. She at once revoked a Will made in
favour of Swift, and settled the reversion of her considerable
fortune, which included Marley Abbey, upon Berkeley, and Mr.
Marshal, who was afterwards ^^ one of the Judges of the Court
of Common Pleas in Ireland. They were also named as sole
executors. Her succession amounted to about ^8,000, which
was to be equally divided between the two.

The particulars in the Will of Esther Vanhomrigh explain al-
lusions in some of Berkeley's letters. Here is a copy, extracted
from the Registry of the Prerogative Court in Ireland : —

In the name of God, Amen. — I Esther Vanhomrigh, one of the
daughters of Bartholomew Vanhomrigh, late of the city of Dublin, Esq.
deceased, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do make
and ordain this my last will and testament, in manner and form follow-
ing, that is to say: — First, I recommend my soul into the hands of
Almighty God, and my body I commit to the earth, to be buried at the
discretion of my executors hereinafter named. In the next place, I give
and devise all my worldly substance, whether in lands, tenements, here-
ditaments, or trusts, and all my real and personal estate, of what nature
or kind soever, unto the Reverend Doctor George Berkly, one of the
Fellows of Trinity College, Dublin, and Robert Marshal of Clonmel
Esq. their heirs, executors, and administrators, chargeable nevertheless
with, and subject and liable to the payment of all such debts of my own
contracting as I shall owe at the time of my death, as also unto the
payment of the several legacies hereinafter bequeathed, or which shall
hereafter be bequeathed by any codicil to be annexed to this my last will
and testament : Item, I give and bequeath unto Erasmus Lewis of
London, Esq. the sum of twenty-five pounds sterling to buy a ring :
Item, I give and bequeath unto Francis Annesly of the city of London,
Esq. twenty-five pounds sterling to buy a ring : Item, I give and be-
queath unto John Hooks, Esq. of Gaunts in Dorsetshire, twenty-five

'" That the catastrophe afflicted Swift then that he visited the county of Cork,
seems certain. After the death of Vanessa, and composed the verses on the 'Carberry
he left Dublin for some months. It was Rocks.' " In i753-

VOL. IV. H

98 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch;

pounds sterling to buy a ring : Item, I give unto the Right Reverend
Father in God William King, Lord Archbishop of Dublin, twenty-five
pounds sterling, to buy a ring : Item, I give and bequeath unto the
Right Reverend Father in God Theop. Bolton, Lord Bishop of Clonfert,
twenty-five pounds sterling, to buy a ring : Item, I give and bequeath
unto Robert Lindsey of the city of Dublin, Esq. twenty-five pounds
sterling, to buy a ring: Item, I give and bequeath unto Edmund
Shuldam of the city of Dublin, Esq. twenty -five pounds sterling, to buy
a ring : Item, I give and bequeath unto William Lingin of the castle of
Dublin, Esq. twenty-five pounds sterHng, to buy a ring : Item, I give and
bequeath unto the Rev. Mr. John Antrobus, my cousin, the like sum of
money, to buy a ring : Item, I give and bequeath unto Bryan Robinson,
doctor of physic in the city of Dublin, fifteen pounds sterling, to buy a
ring : Item, I give and bequeath unto Mr. Edward Cloker of the city of
Dublin, fifteen pounds sterling, to buy a ring : Item, I give and bequeath
unto Mr. William Marshal of the city of Dublin, fifteen pounds sterling,
to buy a ring : Item, I give and bequeath unto John Finey, son of
George Finey of Kildrought in the county of Kildare, and godson to my
sister, the sum of twenty-five pounds sterling, to be paid to him when he
shall attain the age of twenty-one years : Also I give and bequeath to
his mother, Mrs. Mary Finey, the sum of ten pounds sterling, to buy
mourning, and to Mrs. Ann Wakefield, her sister, of the parish of
St. Andrews in the city of Dublin, the like sum to buy mourning : Item,
I give and bequeath unto Ann Kindon, w^ho is now my servant, the sum
of five pounds sterling, to buy mourning ; and to her daughter, Ann
Clinkokells, the like sum of money, to buy mourning : Item, I give and
bequeath unto every servant that shall live with me at the time of my
death half a years wages; and to the poor of the parish where I do
happen to die, five pounds sterling : And I do hereby make, constitute,
and appoint the said Dr. George Berkly, and Robert Marshal Esq. of
Clonmel, sole executors of this my last will and testament. And I do
hereby revoke and make void all former and other wills and testaments
by me in anywise heretofore made, either in word or writing and declare
this to be my last will and testament. In witness whereof, I, the said
Esther Vanhomrigh, have hereunto set my hand and seal, this first day
of May, in the year of our Lord 1723.

E. VANHOMRIGH (Seal).

Signed, published, and declared by the said Esther Vanhomrigh, for
and as her last will and testament, in presence of us, who attest the same
by subscribing our names in presence of her the said testatrix,

JAS. DOYLE. ED. THRUSH. DARBY GAFNY.

IV. J . • Dublin. 99

The last will and testament of Esther Vanhomrigh, late deceased
(having, and so forth), was proved in common form of law, and probat
granted by the most Reverend Father in God Thomas, and so forth, to
the Reverend George Berkely and Robert Marshal, the executors, they
being first sworn personally. Dated the 6th of June 1723.

A true copy, which I attest,

JOHN HAWKINS, Dep. Reg.

Thus curiously did fortune come to Berkeley. The news
naturally surprised him. Though he had been living near the
lady for almost two years, after his return to Ireland in August
1 72 1, he had not seen her once.

The unexpected trust involved Berkeley in annoyances which
lasted for many years. They are often referred to in his letters
which follow.

It is said by Stock that Vanessa on her deathbed delivered to
Mr. Marshal a copy, in her own handv/riting, of her correspon-
dence with the Dean, with an injunction to publish it immediately
after her death, as well as the well-known poem of Cadenus and
Vanessa. He adds that this injunction was disobeyed at the in-
stance of Berkeley, who was moved by friendship for Swift, and
desire to avoid a scandal. But there is really no evidence that
Vanessa ever enjoined the revenge. The poem of Cadenus and
Vanessa was published soon after her death. Berkeley, we are
told, destroyed the original letters of the correspondence, ^ not
because there was anything criminal in them, but because
delicacy required him, he thought, to conceal them from the
public ^2.' If the report of this destruction is true, a copy
must have been preserved by Mr. Marshal. Soon after his
death extracts found their way to the press j and the entire
' Correspondence between Swift and Miss Vanhomrigh,' which
extends from August 17 [2 till August 1722, was published in
Scott's edition of the works of Swift, in 1814. 'The sum of
the evidence which they afford,' says Scott ^^, 'seems to amount
to this — that, while residing in England for some years, and
at a distance from Stella, Swift incautiously engaged in a
correspondence with Miss Vanhomrigh, which probably at first
meant little more than mere gallantry, since the mother, brother,

^"^ Stock's Life. '^ Works of Swift, vol. I. pp. 255—59.

H 2

TOO Life and Letters of Bei^kelcy. [ch.

and sister, seem all to have been confidants of their intimacjr.
After his journey to Ireland, his letters assume a graver cast, and
consist rather of advice, caution, and rebuke than expressions
of tenderness. Yet neither his own heart, nor the nature of
Vanessa's violent attachment, permit him to suppress strong,
though occasional and rare, indications of the high regard in which
he held her, although honour, friendship, and esteem had united

his fate with that of another The letters of Miss Van-

homrigh plead in extenuation of her uncontrollable affection, the

high moral character of its object Swift, under Vanessa's

pen, remains a matchless model of virtue, just and perfect in
everything, but in want of tenderness; the picture, in short,
usually drawn by a male lover of his relentless mistress. It is
the language of the most romantic attachment, but without the

least tincture of criminal desire It was the unrequited

passion of Vanessa, not the perfidy of Cadenus, which was the
origin of their mutual misery ; for she states Swift's unhappiness
as arising from her love, and declares herself at the same time
incapable of abating her affection. Enough of blame will remain
with Swift, if we allow that he cherished with indecisive yet flat-
tering hope a passion which, in justice to himself and Vanessa,
he ought, at whatever risk to her feelings and his own, to have
repressed as soon as she declared it. The want of firmness which
this conduct required, made every hour of indecision an act of real
cruelty, though under the mask of mercy ; and while it trained
his victim towards the untimely grave which it prepared, ruined at
the same time his own peace of mind.'

We return from this mysterious episode to follow Berkeley out of
the College of Dublin. In April 1724, according to the Register,
he was nominated by the Duke of Grafton to the living of Ardtrea
and Arboe, vacant by the death of the Rev. Christopher Jenney.
Almost simultaneously he must have heard of his nomination to
the Deanery of Derry. The records inform us that on 'April
16, upon Dr. Berkeley's being made Dean of Derry, it was
agreed by the Provost [Dr. Baldwini, and Senior Fellows, that
his Grace the Duke of Grafton, the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland,
should present a clerk or clerks to the livings of Ardtrea and
Arboe, vacant by the death of the Rev. Christopher Jenney ; and

IV.] Derry. loi

accordingly he presented the Rev. Mr. John Shadwell to Ardtrea,
and the Rev. Pascanus Ducasse to Arboe.'

The donation to Berkeley of the Deanery of Derry was dated
May 3, 1724. He was instituted and installed on the 14th of
May. On the 2nd of May the Deanery of Dromore was given
to John Hamilton'^. On the 21st of April, 'Mr. Thompson was
chosen Hebrew Lecturer in the room of Dr. Berkeley, who
resigned that office j' and on the 19th of May, 'Dr. Berkeley,
being installed Dean of Derry, sent a resignation of his Senior
Fellowship to the Provost yesterday, being the i8th of this
instant, upon which Dr. Clayton was admitted and co-opted
Senior Fellow ^^^

Thus Berkeley's official connection with Trinity College ends.
In his fortieth year he appears before us as Dean of Derry, no
' hedge deanery,' but one in which residence and ecclesiastical work
were required. The Deanery of Derry was then one of the best
pieces of preferment in the Irish Church. The annual income
was about eleven hundred pounds ^^. Berkeley owed the pro-
motion to the Duke of Grafton, whose Vice-regal reign ended
in this same month of May. This Deanery was an important
ecclesiastical position. It was ' a great frontier against the Dis-
senters.' It had ' five cures in it, and the necessity of a fifth in
the Isle of Inch, where there were a hundred families, and an
old chapel, seven miles from the parish church, without the power
of getting to any church without crossing the sea^'^.' So wrote
Archbishop King, who was himself once Bishop of Derry, and
the circumstances mentioned by him are alluded to in some of
Berkeley's letters.

I have not found when Berkeley went to reside at Derry, or
whether he went there at all. He emerges from the darkness

'* See Liber Mimerum. John Hamilton, tracts from the Register of Trinity College,

Berkeley's successor in 1724 in the Deanery I am indebted to the kindness of the Rev.

of Dromore, was ordained Deacon in March Dr. Dickson.

1727, and Priest in June of that year — *® The case of Derry was different from

nearly three years after his presentation to Dromore. The Dean of Derry was Rector

the Deanery. See Cotton's Fasti, vol. III. of the church, and had several cures, as

p. 293. Was this an instance of persons well as a Deanery house. The obligation

allowed to hold cathedral preferments with- of residence was thus much stronger than at

out being in holy orders — said to have been Dromore, though in this matter there was

not uncommon in Ireland in the seven- at that time a customary laxity,
teenth century ? '^ See Mant's History of the Church of

" For these, as well as for preceding ex- Ireland, vol. II. p. 385.

102 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

of the summer of 1734 in an unexpected mood of mind — with
his heart ready to break ' if his deanery be not taken from him.'
The history of this curious revelation of character is contained
in the following sentences of a letter from Swift to Lord Carteret,
the new Lord Lieutenant ^^ : —

iDublitt], September 3, 1724.

There is a gentleman of this kingdom just gone for England. It is
Dr. George Berkeley, Dean of Derry, the best preferment among us,
being worth £1100 a year. He takes the Bath on his way to London;
and will of course attend your Excellency, and be presented, I suppose,
by his friend Lord Burlington. And because I believe you will choose
out some very idle minutes to read this letter, perhaps you may not be
ill entertained with some account of the man and his errand.

He was a Fellow of the University here ; and going to England very
young, about thirteen years ago, he became the founder of a sect called
the Immaterialists, by the force of a very curious book upon that
subject. Dr. Smalridge and many other eminent persons were his
proselytes. I sent him Secretary and Chaplain to Sicily with my Lord
Peterborough ; and upon his lordship's return, Dr. Berkeley spent above
seven years in travelling over most parts of Europe, but chiefly through
every corner of Italy, Sicily, and other islands. When he came back to
England, he found so many friends that he was effectually recommended
to the Duke of Grafton, by whom he was lately made Dean of Derry.

Your Excellency will be frighted when I tell you all this is but an
introduction ; for I am now to mention his errand. He is an absolute
philosopher with regard to money, titles, and power ; and for three
years past has been struck with a notion of founding a University at
Bermudas, by a charter from the Crown. He has seduced several of
the hopefuUest young clergymen and others here, many of them well
provided for, and all in the fairest way for preferment; but in England
his conquests are greater, and I doubt will spread very far this winter.
He showed me a little Tract which he designs to publish ; and there
your Excellency will see his whole scheme of a life academico-philo-
sophical (I shall make you remember what you were) of a College
founded for Indian scholars and missionaries ; where he most exor-
bitantly proposes a whole hundred pounds a year for himself, fifty

1* John, second Lord Carteret, born in raged learning by his example and his

1690. He was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland patronage, and was one of the most con-

from 1724 to 1730. On the death of his siderable of the statesmen and orators of his

mother in 1744, he became Earl Granville. time.
He died in 1763. Lord Carteret encou-

IV.] In London — Enthusiasm about America. 103

pounds for a Fellow, and ten for a Student. His heart will break if
his Deanery be not taken from him, and left to your Excellency's dis-
posal. I discouraged him by the coldness of courts and ministers, who
will interpret all this as impossible and a vision ; but nothing will do.
And therefore I humbly entreat your Excellency either to use such
persuasions as will keep one of the first men in the kingdom for learning
and virtue quiet at home, or assist him by your credit to compass his
romantic design; which, however, is very noble and generous, and
directly proper for a great person of your excellent education to en-
courage.

We can only conjecture when and why this now absorbing pro-
ject of a Christian University for the civilisation of America took
possession of the Dean of Derry, and carried him to London with
his new Deanery in his hand, ready to be surrendered less than
six months after it had been given to him. Swift says that the
Bermuda project had been in Berkeley's mind for more than three
years before he hurried to London in 1724. This takes us back to
the South Sea convulsion, when he was so deeply moved by that
sudden outbreak of social distemper. His despair of Great Britain
and the old civilisation may have directed his eye to the West,
with its vast Continent, open to half the human race, where with
the ' rise of empire and of arts,' he hoped for another golden age.
It is difficult for us now to see the halo of romance with which
America was at first invested in the minds of many, or to feel
as a sensitive poetical nature, full of ardent philanthropy, might
have felt, amid the coarseness and corruption of European society,
when a fair virgin soil, and ample resources for a simple virtuous
people were seen across the ocean, America was in Berkeley's
days partly what India is in ours, full of attractions to benevo-
lence. The Christian associations of the early part of last cen-
tury sent their missions to America. The Society for the Pro-
pagation of the Gospel was founded in 1701 with this immedi-
ately in view. Berkeley's Verses on the Frospect of planting Arts
and Learning in America express his own feeling of the contrast
between the 'decay of Europe' and the

' happy climes, the seat of innocence,

Where nature guides, and virtue rules,
Where men shall not impose for truth and sense,
The pedantry of courts and schools.'

I04 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

His desire, in the years that followed his return to Ireland,
after his residence in England and on the Continent of Europe —
where he observed the scholasticism of Universities, the debase-
ment of social rank, and the professional religion of ecclesiastics —
was to sacrifice the fruits of his own social advancement, in favour
of a more hopeful civilisation, and a more genuine academic life,
as soon as those fruits were considerable enough to supply strength
for the execution. Vanessa's legacy, and then the Deanery of
Derry, told him that his time was come. The opulent pre-
ferment he offered to resign j the legacy, and the remainder of
his life he proposed to dedicate to instructing the youth of
America, as President of an ideally perfect University in the Isles
of Bermuda. Such was the force of his disinterested example and
eloquent enthusiasm, that, among others, three Junior Fellows of
Trinity College — William Thompson, Jonathan Rogers, and James
King — agreed to share his fortunes, if he should succeed in
founding it, and were willing to exchange their good prospects
at home for a settlement in the Atlantic ocean, at foity pounds
a year.

Berkeley left Dublin for London in September 1724, thus
encouraged, and full of those thoughts. His immediate purpose
in London was to gather associates and money, and to obtain a
Royal Charter. Whether he was presented to Lord Carteret ' y,
the new Viceroy, by Lord Burlington, we have no information.
But we soon find him at work in London, among Doctors and
Bishops and Peers, organizing means for raising money. One
of his first acts after his arrival was to publish the ' tract ' to
which Swift alludes — A Proposal for the Better Supplying Churches in
our 'Foreign Plantations^ and for Converting the Savage Americans to
Christianity^ by a College to be erected in the Summer Islands^ other-
loise called the Isles of Bermuda. Here his plan is unfolded and
eloquently enforced.

Various considerations induced Berkeley to choose the Ber-
mudas for the College which was to be the centre and basis

'* Lord Carteret was the patron of another Hutcheson opened an Academy in Dublin

Irish philosopher — Francis Hutcheson ( 1694 about 1721, and passed there the eight fol-

— 1746), afterwards Professor of Moral Phi- lowing years. His Inqidry into the Original

losophy in Glasgow, and one of the founders of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue is dedi-

of the Scotch Philosophy of Common Sense. cated to Lord Carteret.

IV.] In London — Enthtisiasm aboict America. 105

of his American operations. In his Froposal, he enumerates
with the minuteness of a practical man the desirable circum-
stances of place, and then finds or imagines them in those en-
chanted islands. With the warmth of a poet he pictures their
' genial sun ' and ' virgin earth/ and an atmosphere ' perpetually
fanned and kept cool by sea breezes, which render the weather the
most healthy and delightful that could be wished, being of one
equal tenor almost throughout the whole year, like the latter end
of a fine May.' The story of the adventures of Sir George Som-
mers, from whom the islands took their name, had invested the
seat of the proposed Great Western University with the charm
of romance in the minds of his countrymen. The Summer Islands
had been a fairy land of poets. Shakespeare makes his Ariel
say that she had been called up at midnight ' to fetch dew from
the still vexed Bermoothes.' Waller found them a place of refuge,
and sang the praises of their lemons and oranges, Hesperian gar-
dens, pearls and corals —

' For the kind spring, which but salutes us here,
Inhabits these, and courts them all the year :
Ripe fruits and blossoms, on the same trees live ;
At once they promise, and at once they give.
So sweet the air, so moderate the clime.
None sickly lives, or dies before his time.
Heaven sure has kept this spot of earth uncurst,
To show how all things were created first-".'

Berkeley pictures to himself the inhabitants as simple and
frugal, ' a contented, plain, innocent sort of people,' free from
avarice and luxury, as well as the other corruptions that attend
these vices. It was to him a land of blue skies, rich fruits, coral
strands, and a virtuous, innocent race.

Bermuda he imagined to be well situated as a place of meeting
for students. Colonial and native Indian, both from the Continent

^^ Waller's Battle of the Summer Islands, The muse of the nineteenth century has

a mock heroic description of a contest not forgotten the Summer Islands. Moore

between the people of Bermudas and two thus sings in his Odes to Nea : —
whales on their coast.

' Farewell to Bermuda, and long may the bloom
Of the lemon and myrtle its vallies perfume ;
May Spring to eternity hallow the shade,
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller has strayed.'

io6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

and from the Islands of America. The little group is distant 580
miles from Cape Hatteras, the nearest point in North America,
and is about equally far away from the Islands in the Caribbean
Sea. He pleased himself by reflecting upon this, as contributing
to an established harmony of Bermuda with his Mission. Yet
a mind less charged with subtle fanciful enthusiasm might have
been apt rather to consider the distance, which exposed the
'savage children' he would have to teach to the difficulty and
danger of a long voyage, in addition to a long journey, as a bar
to the success of the seminary.

He was at first disposed to trust to voluntary liberality. In
the Proposal he says that ' if his Majesty would be graciously pleased
to grant a Charter for a College to be erected in a proper place, it
is to be hoped a fund may be raised, by the contribution of well
disposed persons, sufficient for building and endowing the same.'
Perhaps it might have been better for the project in the end if he
had kept to the notion of contributions and subscriptions. The
effects of his fervid enthusiasm upon the disposition even of
those little likely to be moved were extraordinary. Warton
says ^1 that Lord Bathurst told him that ' all the members of the
Scriblerus Club being met at his house at dinner, they agreed
to rally Berkeley, who was also his guest, on his scheme at Ber-
mudas. Berkeley, having listened to all the lively things they
had to say., begged to be heard in his turn ; and displayed his plan
with such an astonishing and animating force of eloquence and
enthusiasm, that they were struck dumb, and, after some pause, rose
up all together with earnestness, exclaiming — " Let us all set out
with him immediately."' Nor was the zeal transient. He persuaded
many to help him. More than five thousand pounds was raised —
a large sum in those days — which might have been largely in-
creased if the author of the Proposal had continued to rely on the
good will of private persons.

The following list of subscriptions, in Berkeley's own hand-
writing, is contained among the Berkeley Papers : —

^^ Essay on Pope, vol. II. p. 254, ' . . . A which appear the names of Arbuthnot, Ben-
committee of persons for receiving contri- son, Hutchinson, Sherlock, and others among
butions and subscriptions was announced, in Berkeley's friends.'

iv.] In London — Enthusiasm about America. 107

Subscriptions for Bermuda.

Dean of York and his brother .£300

Earl of Oxford 200

Dr. Strafford 100

Sir Matthew Decker . . . .100
Lady, who desires to be

unknown 500

Lord Bateman 100

— Archer, Esq., of Soho Square 500

Dr. Rundle 100

Dr. Grandorge 100

Lord Pembroke 300

Lord Peterborough . . . .105

Lord Arran 300

Lord Percival 200

Archibald Hutchinson , . .200
John Wolfe, Esq 100

Edward Harley, Esq. . . £100
Benjamin Hoare, Esq. . . .100
Lady Betty Hastings . . . 500
Sir Robert Walpole .... 200
Duke of Chandos . . . .200
Thomas Stanhope, Esq. . .100

Mrs. Drelincourt 100

Dr. Pelling 100

Another clergyman {added in

another hand, Bp. Berkeley) lOO

Mrs. Road 100

Lady, who desires to be

unknown loo

Gentleman, who desires to be

unknown 160

Berkeley's endeavour from the first was to obtain a Charter.
He found a way to the ear of George L It is said that for this
he was indebted to a distinguished Venetian, the Abbe Gualteri,
whom he met in Italy, and who was afterwards in Court circles
in London — one of the scientific foreigners whose conversation
the king occasionally found pleasure in. By Lord Egmont and
other common friends he was recommended to Sir Robert Wal-
pole, then in supreme power. The favourable disposition of the
king, and Berkeley's own persuasive eloquence, secured the pro-
fessed neutrality of the Prime Minister. As early as June 1725,
'a Patent passed the seals for erecting a College in the Island of
Bermudas, for propagation of the Gospel among the Indians and
other Heathens on the Continent of America, and constituting
Dr. Berkeley, Dean of Londonderry, Principal of the said
College -^.'

Not satisfied with this, Berkeley contrived other plans. The
island of St. Christopher, one of the Caribbee cluster, had for
years been in dispute between the English and French^ who had
both established settlements upon it at the same time, in 1625.
This island was at last ceded to Great Britain, by the treaty of
Utrecht, in 17 13. Berkeley made a minute search of its value,
and formed a plan for the improvement of the lands. He asked

''■''■ Historical Register — 'Chronological Diary' for June, 1725.

io8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [en.

that part of the enhanced purchase money should be given to
the Bermuda College. The king was so well pleased with this
arrangement that he directed Sir Robert Walpole to propose it
to the House of Commons. Berkeley threw himself into the
movement with incredible ardour. He found means to address
every member of the House in support of his plan, as one
favoured by the king, and not opposed by the Minister. His suc-
cess was such that, on the Tith of May 1726, with only two
dissentient voices, the House of Commons addressed the king in
favour of 'such a grant for St. Paul's College in Bermudas, out of
the lands of St. Christopher's, as might seem to his Majesty
sufficient for the purpose''^'.' Sir Robert Walpole accordingly
promised ,^20,000. Lord Townshend, astonished at the success
of Berkeley's canvassing, expostulated with the Minister on his
passivity. Walpole seems not to have anticipated the result.
He took for granted, he said, that the very preamble of the Bill
would have insured its rejection, and explained that only the
wonderful persuasive power of the Dean of Derry could have
made it otherwise.

The Charter authorised the erection of a College in the Ber-
mudas, to be called the College of St. Paul, and to be governed
by a President and nine Fellows, who were to form the Corpo-
ration. Berkeley was named the first President, and his three
Dublin associates the first Fellows. They were all allowed to
retain their preferments at home for eighteen months after their
arrival in the Islands, Other six Fellows were to be appointed
by them within three years, and the surviving members
of the Corporation were to have power to elect to all future
vacancies. The Bishop of London was named as Visitor, and
the Secretary of State for the Colonies was appointed Chancellor.
The College was declared to be for the instruction of students in
literature and theology, with a view to the promotion of Christian
civilisation alike in the English and in the Heathen parts of
America.

Berkeley spent four years in these preparations, from the autumn
of 1724 till the autumn of 1728. He then was in England, chiefly

'■'^ Historical Register.

IV,] In London — EnthiLsiasm about America. 109

in London. It was in these years that he occasionally attended
the Court of Caroline at Leicester Fields, when she was Princess
of Wales, and afterwards at St. James's or at Kensington, not
because he loved courts, but because he loved America. Clarke
was still officiating in his parish Church in London, and Butler
did not till 1725 go into the seclusion of his Durham rectory.
Sherlock was Master of the Temple, and Hoadley was Bishop
of Salisbury. Caroline liked now and then to hear a theo-
logical debate. She had a philosophical interest in theological
questions, and a political interest in the Universities and the
Church. Years before, when Princess of Wales, she had acted
as a royal go-between in the famous controversial correspondence
of Clarke and Leibnitz. And now, when Berkeley was staying
in London, she was glad to include Clarke and Hoadley, along
with Sherlock and himself, in her weekly gatherings, and to hear
Hoadley supporting Clarke, and Sherlock supporting Berkeley. It
was from a hope of advancing the interests of his College that
Berkeley was persuaded to submit to what he thought 'the drudgery*
of bearing a part in these fruitless debates with Clarke "^.

Some of Berkeley's anxieties and disappointments in the long
negotiation which issued in the Charter, the subscriptions, and the
promise of an endowment, find vent in his letters to Thomas Prior.
We have lost sight of Prior since Berkeley was in Italy in 17 14.
He reappears in Dublin in 1724, and he was probably there during
most of Berkeley's residence in the three previous years. From
December 1724, through all the four years of Bermuda negotia-
tions, we have letters from Berkeley in London to Prior at Dublin.
These letters form our picture of his life during this curious
period. Prior seems to have been a sort oi factotum — a judicious
practical friend_, who interposed between him and immediate
contact with some of the details of ordinary life. Berkeley's
letters to him are thus naturally concerned with the vulgar more
than with the ideal interests of life. The perplexities consequent
upon the Vanhomrigh succession fill a larger space in them than
the Bermudas.

*' See Biog. Britt. vol. III. — Addenda and Dr. Samuel Clarke before Queen Caroline,

Corrigenda. Berkeley, we are elsewhere told, then Princess of Wales — had a magnificent

'was idolized in England before he set off for gold medal presented to him by his late

America — was offered a bishopric — used to go majesty [George II] as a keepsake.' — Pre-

to St. James's two days a week to dispute with face to Monck Berkeley, p. c.xxxv.

no Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

Let us look at Berkeley as he appears in a letter to Prior in
December 1724 — the first of this series : —

Lo7idon, December 8, 1724.
Dear Tom,

You wrote to me something or other, which I received a fortnight
ago, about temporal affairs, which I have no leisure to think of at
present. The L. Chancellor is not a busier man than myself; and I
thank God my pains are not without success, which hitherto hath an-
swered beyond expectation. Doubtless the English are a nation ires
Maire'e. I have only time to tell you, that Robin '^^ will call on you for
thirteen pounds. Let me know whether you have wrote to Mr. Newman
whatever you judged might give him a good opinion of our project.
Let me also know where Bermuda Jones lives, or where he is to be met
with. I am, yours, &c.,

G. BERKELEY.

I lodge at Mr. Fox's, an apothecarj' in Albemarle Street, near St.
James's.

Provided you bring my affair with Partinton to a complete issue before
Christmas day come twelvemonth, by reference or otherwise, that I may
have my dividend, whatever it is, clear, I do hereby promise you to
increase the premium I promised you before by its fifth part, whatever
it amounts to.

The Charter — self-restraining patience amid the delays caused
by the King's absence, and by the state of public affairs — and the
weary alternations of the Vanhomrigh-Partinton business, which
never slacken his Bermuda zeal, succeed one another in the letters
of 1725:—

April 20, 1725.
Dear Tom,

Nothing hath occurred since my last worth writing; only Clarke
affirms the jewels were part of the father's goods, to be divided as the
rest. He saith they were claimed as such from Partinton by the
daughters, and that this may appear by the writings. I long to hear
that Mr. Marshal and you have agreed on what is due, and taken
methods to pay it, &c.

Pray give my service to Caldwell ; and let him know that in case he
goes abroad with Mr. Stewart, Jaques, who lived with Mr. Ashe^^ is de-

^ His brother, afterwards Dr. Robert ^^ His pupil Ashe, with whom he travelled

Berkeley. on the Continent.

IV.] Letters from England. iii

sirous to attend upon him. I think him a very proper servant to travel

with a gentleman ; but believing him sufficiently known to Caldwell, I

shall forbear recommending him in more words.

I have obtained reports from the Bishop of London [Gibson], the

Board of Trade and Plantations, and the Attorney and Solicitor General,

in favour of the Bermuda scheme, and hope to have the warrant signed

by his Majesty this week. Yours,

G. BERKELEY.

Dear Tom,
I HAVE been this morning with Mr. Wogan, who hath undertaken to
inform himself about the value of our South Sea stock, and what must
be done in order to impower him to receive it. I have nothing more to
add to my last letter ; only to desire you to transact with Marshal and
Partinton so as may dispose them to terminate all matters by a speedy
arbitration, I care not before whom, lawyer or not lawyer. I very much
wish that we could get the reversionary lands off our hands. If Par-
tinton's own inclination for them should be a stop to the sale, I wish he
had them. But the conduct of all these matters I must leave to your
own care and prudence : only I long to see them finished for our
common interest. I must desire you to give yourself the trouble of
sending me by the very next post a bill of forty pounds, payable here at
the shortest sight. Pray fail not in this ; and you will oblige, dear Tom,
yours sincerely,

G. BERKELEY.

Yesterday the Charter passed the Privy Seal. This day the new
Chancellor ^^ began his office by putting the Recepi to it.
London, June 3, 1725.

Londo7i, June 12, 1725.
Dear Tom,

I WROTE to you some time since for forty pounds to be transmitted
hither. I must now beg you to send me another forty pounds. I have
had no answer to my last ; so if you have not yet negotiated that bill,
make the whole together fourscore pounds ; which sum I shall hope for
by the first opportunity. Mr. Wogan hath not yet found out the South
Sea stock, but hath employed one in that office to inquire about it.
As soon as I am informed myself, I shall let you know. He is also to
make inquiry at Doctors' Commons to know what must be done in order

^ Sir Peter King (created Lord King), be- 17.^3- and died in the following year. He
came Lord Chancellor, June i, i 725, resigned was the nephew of John Locke.

112 Life and Letter's of Berkeley. [ch.

to prove the present property in us, and to empower him to receive it.
In order thereunto, I have given him a memorial of what I knew. I
hope, as soon as he sends these directions, they will be complied with
on that side the water. It was always my opinion we should have
such an agent here. I am sure, had he been appointed a year agone,
our affairs would have been the better for it.

The Charter hath passed all the seals, and is now in my custody. It
hath cost me 1 30 pounds dry fees, besides expedition-money to men in
office.

Mr. Percival writes that he hath given you the bonds. I must intreat
you, dear Tom, to get the residue of last year's rent, with an account
stated from Alderman M'Manus. I am yours sincerely,

G. BERKELEY.

London, July 20, 1725.
Dear Tom,

I HAVE been of late in much embarrass of business, which, with
Mr. Wogan's being often out of town, hath occasioned your not hearing
from me for some time. I must now tell you that our South Sea stock,
&c, is confirmed to be what I already informed you, viz, 880 pounds,
somewhat more or less. You are forthwith to get probates of Alderman
Pearson's will, Partinton's will, and Mrs. Esther Van Homrigh's will, in
which names the Exchequer annuities were subscribed, transmitted
hither, together with two letters of attorney, one for receiving the stock,
the other for the annuities. You will hear from Mr. Wogan by this post,
who will send you more particular directions, together with a copy of
such letters of attorney as will be necessary. In case Pearson refuses to
sign the letter, let him send over a renunciation of any right therein,
which will do as well. It may suffice, without going through all the
steps, to tell you that I have clearly seen it made out how the Exchequer
annuities, subscribed in the name of the three forementioned persons, came
(through various mutations incident to stock) to be worth this money,
and likewise to have begot other annuities ; which annuities, stock, and
dividends unreceived make up the sum. But before you get Partinton
and Marshal to sign the letters of attorney, or make the probates, nay,
before you tell them of the value of the subscribed annuity, you should
by all means, in my opinion, insist, carry and secure, two points ; first,
that Partinton should consent to a partition of this stock, &c. (which I
believe he cannot deny) : secondly, that Marshal should engage not to
touch one penny of it till all debts on this side the water are satisfied.

IV.] Letters from England. 113

I even desire you would take advice, and legally secure it in such sort
that he may not touch it if he would till the said debts are paid. It
would be the wrongest thing in the world, and give me the greatest pain
possible, to think we did not administer in the justest sense. Whatever
therefore appears to be due, let it be instantly paid; here is money
sufficient to do it. And here I must tell that Mrs. Hill hath been with
me, who says the debt was the mother's originally, but that Mrs. Esther
made it her own, by giving a note for the same under her hand, which
note is now in Dublin. Mr. Clarke hath likewise shewn me a letter of
Mrs. Esther's (writ by him, but signed by her), acknowledging the debt
for her mother's burial. And indeed it seems she must have neces-
sarily given order for that, and so contract the debt, since the party
deceased could not be supposed to have ordered her own burial. These
things being so, I would see Marshal brought to consent to the payment
of them, or good reason assigned why they should not be paid, Mrs.
Philips alias Barret (a very poor woman) is in great want of her dues.
She saith Clarke and Baron can attest them, besides that they appear in
Mrs. Esther's accompt-book. I must therefore intreat you, once for all,
to clear up and agree with Marshal what is due, and then make an end,
by paying that which it is a shame was not paid sooner. Query, Why
the annuities should not have been subscribed in Prat's name, if B.
V. Homrigh had a share in them .' For God's sake, adjust, finish, con-
clude any way with Partinton ; for at the rate we have gone on these
two years, we may go on twenty. In your next, let me know what you
have proposed to him and Marshal, and how they relish it. I hoped to
have been in Dublin by this time ; but business grows out of business.
I have wrote lately to Alderman M'Manus to. clear accounts with you.
I am, dear Tom, yours sincerely,

G. BERKELEY.
Bermuda prospers.

London, September 3, 1725.
Dear Tom,

I SUPPOSE you have long since received the draughts of the letters of
attorney, &c., from Mr. Wogan, with his letter and mine. I must now
add to what I there said, that it will be necessary for me to administer
here in order to obtain the money out of the South Sea. This is what
Mr. Wogan tells me, and this is a step that I cannot think of taking till
such time as the debts on this side the water are agreed on by Mr. Mar-
shal and you; for, having once taken out an administratijn on this side

yoL. IV. I

114 I-if^ ^^^^ Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

the water, I may be liable to be put to trouble here by the creditors
more than I am at present. To be short, I expect the business of the
debts will be ascertained before I take any steps on my part about the
stock or annuities. I must further tell you, that in case Mr. Marshal
does not send orders to pay all the debts really due, with particular
mention of the same, I must e'en put them all (pretenders as well as just
creditors) upon attaching or securing the whole effects here, in South Sea,
&c., to their own use, wherein I shall think myself obliged to be aiding to
the best of my power. Clarke hath brought me from time to time the
pretensions of divers creditors, all which I directed him to send to you ;
and he saith he hath sent them to you. I think Mr. Wogan should be
constituted attorney for paying the debts here, as well as for getting the
stock. If my brother Robin calls upon you for ten pounds, you will
let him have it. I am, dear Tom, yours,

G. BERKELEY.

I wrote long since to Caldwell about his going to Bermudas, but had
no answer, which makes me think my letter miscarried. I must now
desire you to give my service to him, and know whether he still retains
the thoughts he once seemed to have of entering into that design. I
know he hath since got an employment, &c. ; but I have good reason to
think he would not suffer in his temporalities by taking one of our
fellowships, although he resigned all that. In .plain English, I have
good assurance that our College will be endowed beyond any thing
expected or desired hitherto. This makes me confident he would lose
nothing by the change ; and on this condition only I propose it to him.
I wish he may judge rightly in this matter, as well for his own sake as
for the sake of the College.

Dear Tom,

It is an age since I have heard from you. You have long since
received instructions from Mr. Wogan and from me what is to be done.
If these are not already complied with, I beg you wll lose no more time,
but take proper methods, out of harid, for selling the South Sea stock
and annuities. I have very good reason to apprehend that they will sink
in their value, and desire you to let V. Homrigh, Partinton, and Mr.
Marshal, know as much. The less there is to be expected from them,
the more I must hope from you. I know not how to move them at this
distance but by you; and if what I have already said will not do, I
profess myself to be at a loss for words to move you. I shall therefore

IV.] Letters from England. 115

only mention three points (often mentioned heretofore) which I earnestly
wish to see something done in. \st, The debts on this side the water
stated, if not with concurrence of Mr. Marshal, without him ; for sure
this may be done without him, by the papers you have already seen,
where Clarke saith they all appear. 2d, A commission of attorney sent
to Wogan (who I am assured is an honest and capable man) to transact
all affairs here. 3^^, Matters somehow or other concluded with Partinton.
You have told me he was willing to refer them to an arbitration, but not
of lawyers, and that Marshal would refer them only to lawyers. For my
part, rather than fail, I am for referring them to any honest knowing
person or persons, whether lawyer or not lawyer ; and if Marshal will not
come into this, I desire you will do all you can to oblige him, either by
persuasion or otherwise : particularly represent to him my resolution of
going (with God's blessing) in April next to Bermuda, which will prob-
ably make it his interest to compromise matters out of hand ; but if he
will not, agree if possible with Partinton to force him to compliance in
putting an end to our disputes. Partinton Van Homrigh, I remember,
expressed a desire to purchase the reversionary lands. I beg he may be
allowed to do it, or any other means be used to bring him to consent to
the sale of them.

I have been these five weeks in a ramble through England^*. I came
hither two or three days since, and propose leaving this place in a day
or two, and being in London by the time answer may come from you ;
but not being sure where I shall lodge, must desire you to direct to be
left with Mr. Bindon, at the Golden-glove in Jermyn's Street, near
Piccadilly.

And now I must desire you to pay to my brother Robin seventeen
pounds, for which his receipt will be sufficient. I am, dear Tom, yours

sincerely,

GEOR. BERKELEY.
Flax ley, Oct. 15, 1725.

December 2, 1725.
Dear Tom,

I AM just returned from a long ramble through the country to London,
where I am settled in my old lodging at Mr. Fox's, and where I have
met with two letters from you, after a very long and profound silence,
which made me apprehensive of your welfare.

I presume you have by this time a commission for the administration

2'* This is the first hint of ' rambles through dated, is a country parish in Gloucestershire,
England.' Flaxley, from which this letter is in the vale of the Severn.

1 2

ii6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

of Mr. Marshal, which was to have gone last post to you from Mrs.
Wogan and Aspinwall. I do think it necessary that Mr. Marshal should
act, both as he hath acted hitherto and hath right to act, and as my
attention to other affairs makes it more inconvenient for me. You will
therefore take care that Mr. Marshal perform his part without delay.
There is another point to be managed, without which no step can be
taken towards transferring the stock, and that is, a full renunciation
(since he will not act) from Mr. Pearson, provided he be sole heir to his
father : if not, the other heirs must concur therein. Was there any
authentic paper or declaration by which it legally appeared that old
Mr. Pearson was only a trustee concerned in the stock ? This alone
would do ; but I knew of none such. I beg you to dispatch this affair
of the stock, and the other points relating thereto, which I formerly
recommended to you, and which I hope you have not forgot. I long
to hear what you and Mr. Marshal have resolved about the creditors : it
is a shame something is not done. The woman of St. James's coffee-
house claims a debt upon the family, for coffee, tea, &c. I promised to
acquaint you with it : the particular sum I do not know, but suppose
you are not unacquainted with any of the debts. If this be a debt that
we ought to pay, I desire it to be immediately taken care of. I must
repeat to you, that I earnestly wish to see things brought to some con-
clusion with Partinton, both with respect to the suit and the sale of the
reversion. Dear Tom, it requires some address, diligence, and manage-
ment, to bring business of this kind to an issue, which should not seem
impossible, considering it can be none of our interests to spend our lives
and substance in law. I am willing to refer things to an arbitration,
even vote, of lawyers. Pray push this point, and let me hear from you
upon it. I am your affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

Dear Tom,

I HAVE not time to repeat what I have said in my former letters. I
shall now only say one thing, which I beg you to see dispatched by all
means, otherwise we may be great losers. There must have been heirs
to Alderman Pearson (whether his son alone, or his son with others) ;
but there must of necessity be heirs ; and those heirs must have adminis-
tered, otherwise they could not be entitled to his effects. Now, what you
are to do, is to get a full renunciation (or declaration that they and the
Alderman had no concern otherwise than as trustees in the South Sea
stock and annuities) from the said heir or heirs, with a proper proof that

IV.] Letters from England. \ 1 7

they are such heir or heirs to Alderman Pearson. It is now near three
months since I told you there were strong reasons for haste ; and these
reasons grow every moment stronger. I need say no more — I can say
no more to you. I am, dear Tom, yours,

G. B.
London, Dec. 11, 1725.

Dear Tom,

I RECEIVED your letters, and have desired Mrs. Wogan and Aspinwall
(for they act in concert in all things) to look into the act of parUament
you mention, though I doubt it cannot be to any great purpose ; for
though, by the act, it should appear that Pearson was a trustee, yet as
that was passed long before the South Sea subscriptions, it will not, I
fear, thereby appear that the said subscriptions were part of his trust. You
have informed us there will be no difficulty in obtaining Mr. Pearson's re-
nunciation. If the time be expired since the old gentleman's (his father's)
death that by law is limited for taking out letters of administration, then I
am told such single renunciation may be sufficient, without troubling the
sisters. This you will inform yourself in there. Since Mr. Marshal is
averse to it, he need not act at all ; only send back the will and probate
hither for me to administer by. I know not what trouble this may
expose me to, but I see it is a thing must be done in justice one time
or another. One thing, nevertheless, I must repeat and insist on ; that
is, that you must order matters so with Mr. Partinton Van Homrigh
that Mr. Marshal's share and mine of the South Sea, &c., may be applied
to the payment of English debts (as you formerly have assured me it
should). If it were not in this view, I might incur great difficulties by
administering here, and this money's lying by undivided, as the Duchess
of Tyrconnel's reversion would quite disappoint this view. I have not
yet been able to find Mr. Levinge at his lodgings in the Temple. I
must desire you to pay the sum of fifty pounds to my brother Robin,
who will call on you for it. I must also desire you to send me an
account of what money is in Mr. Synge's hands and yours belonging
to me, as likewise of the draughts that I have made for money upon
either of you. You'll be so good as to call on Mr. Stanton, and pay his
bill when in Dublin. I called several times, but could not find him, to
know what it came to. You will also inform yourself whether Coll.
Maccasland demands any thing for the running of my horse, and pay it ;
as likewise whatever is due for the other horse belonging to me ; and I
make you a present of them both.

ii8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch,

I am exceedingly plagued by these creditors, and am quite tired and
ashamed of repeating the same answer to them, that I expect every post
to hear what Mr. Marshal and you think of their pretensions, and that
then they shall be paid. It is now a full twelvemonth that I have been
expecting to hear from you on this head, and expecting in vain. I shall
therefore expect no longer, nor hope nor desire to know what Mr. Mar-
shal thinks, but only what you think, or what appears to you by Mrs.
V. Homrigh's papers and accounts, as stated by Clarke, and compared
with the claims of creditors long since transmitted from hence. This is
what solely depends on you, what I sued for several months ago, and
what you promised to send me an account of long before this time. I
have likewise sent you several hints and proposals, tending, as I thought,
to shorten our affair with Partinton, which, at the rate it hath hitherto gone
on, is never likely to have an end; but to these points I have never re-
ceived any answer at all from you. I hope you have not overlooked or
forgot them. Had I more time I would repeat them to you ; but I have
only time to add at present, that I am, dear Tom, your affectionate
humble servant,

GEOR. BERKELEY.

London, Dec. 30, 1725.

Passages in those letters to Prior show that Berkeley must have
occasionally rambled in the rural parts of England at this period
in his life. We have hardly any clue to the places which he
visited. His visits to Lord Pembroke at Wilton are com-
memorated. The charms of his conversation were so attractive
there that it is said he had to leave the place by stratagem.

Besides the letters to Prior, we have other occasional glimpses
of Berkeley's life in London, in 1725 and 1726. Thus, a letter
from Bolingbroke to Swift, dated London, July 24, 1725, con-
tains the following: — '•Ford brought the Dean of Derry to see
me. Unfortunately for me, I was then out of town- and the
journey of the former into Ireland will perhaps defer for some
time my making acquaintance with the other, which I am sorry
for. I would not by any means lose the opportunity of knowing
a man who can in good earnest espouse the system of Father
Malebranche, and who is fond of going a missionary to the
West Indies. My zeal for the propagation of the Gospel will
hardly can y me so far ; but my spleen against Europe has more
than once made me think of buying the dominion of Bermudas,

IV,] Letters front England. 119

and spending the remainder of my days as far as possible from
those people with whom I have passed the first and greatest
part of my life. Health and every other comfort of life is to be
had better there than here. As to the imaginary and artificial
pleasures, we are philosophers enough to despise them. What
say you ? Will you leave your Hibernian flock to some other
shepherd, and transport yourself with me into the middle of
the Atlantic Ocean? We will form a Society more reasonable
and more useful than Dr. Berkeley's College; and I promise you
solemnly, as supreme magistrate, not to suffer the currency of
Wood's halfpenny; the coiner of them shall be hanged if he
presumes to set foot in the island ^9.' On July 26, 1725, Harley,
Earl of Oxford, writes to Swift from Dover Street : — ' 1 inquire of
you sometimes of Dean Berkeley : I was sorry to hear you were
troubled with that melancholy distemper, the want of hearing.'
On October 15, T725, Pope writes: 'Dean Berkeley is well, and
happy in the prosecution of his scheme -V

In the spring of 1726, Swift revisited England, and was
once more among his old friends, Bolingbroke, Bathurst, and
Pembroke, Pope, Arbuthnot, and Gay. He lived much with
Pope, at his beautiful villa, and the Irish patriot became more
closely united in friendship than ever to the bard of Twicken-
ham. The illness of Stella hurried him back to Ireland in July,
but after her partial recovery he returned to London, for the last
time, in March 1727. Swift was a frequent visitor at Leicester
House, and was often with Sir Robert Walpole. Gulliver's Travels^
too, were about this time amusing and delighting all classes, and
he was in consequence the talk of the town. His old friend
the Dean of Derry and he sometimes met, we may imagine, in
the spring of 1726, and in the spring of 1727.

The following letters to Thomas Prior contain the only remain-
ing record by Berkeley himself of his doings in 1726. In them
there is still the tiresome, but illustrative, Vanhomrigh executor-
ship affair, through all the embarrassments of which he steadfastly
pursues the Bermuda negotiations, of which these letters give the
history. There were besides, some transactions about the disposal

^^ Swift's Correspondence. 'Wood's halfpenny' occasioned the famous Drapier's Letters,
published in 1724.

X20 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch,

of the Deanery-house at Derry, and arrangements for church service
and other matters there, during his absence. It seems from one
of the letters that he hoped Prior might have gone with him to
Bermuda.

Lo7idon,Jan. 20, 1725-6.
Dear Tom,
I AM wearied to death by creditors: I see nothing done, neither
towards clearing their accounts, nor settling the effects here, nor finishing
affairs with Partinlon. I am at an end of my patience, and almost of
my wits. My conclusion is, not to wait a moment longer for Marshal,
nor to have (if possible) any further regard to him, but to settle all things
without him, and whether he will or no. How far this is practicable,
you will know by consulting an able lawyer. I have some confused
notion that one executor may act by himself; but how far, and in what
case, you will thoroughly be informed. It is an infinite shame that the
debts here are not cleared up and paid. I have borne the shock and
importunity of creditors above a twelvemonth, and am never the nearer ;
have nothing now to say to them : judge you what I feel. But I have
already said all that can be said on this head. It is also no small dis-
appointment to find, that we have been near three years doing nothing
with respect to bringing things to a conclusion with Partinton. Is there
no way of making a separate agreement with him ? Is there no way of
prevailing with him to consent to the sale of the reversion? Let me
entreat you to proceed with a litde management and dispatch in these
matters ; and inform yourself particularly, whether I may not come to a
reference or arbitration with Partinton, even though Marshal should be
against it ? — Whether I may not take steps that may compel Marshal to
an agreement i* — What is the practised method when one of two executors
is negligent or unreasonable ? In a word. Whether an end may not be
put to these matters one way or other ? I do not doubt your skill ; I
only wish you were as active to serve an old friend as I should be in any
affair of yours that lay in my power. All the papers relating to Mrs. V.
tlomrigh's affairs were in the closet ; and this I understand you have
broke open, as likewise my bed-chamber (which last, having none of
these papers in it, but only things of another nature, I had given no
directions for breaking it open) ; but I do not find the effect I proposed
from it, viz. a clear account of the debts transmitted hither, though, by
what Clarke tells me, it would not take up an hour to do it. Mrs. Hill
is very noisy : I mention her as the last that was with me. Pray let me
k^now your thoughts of her, and all the rest of them together. Clarke

IV.] Letters from England. 121

demands to be considered for service done, and for postage of letters.
You know wherein, and how much, you have employed him (for I have
not employed him), and will concert with Marshal and Partinton what
he should have. Qu. Had not Mrs. Hill commenced a suit, and how
that matter stands? But again, I desire to hear from you a distinct
answer to the claim of every creditor sent over by Clarke. As to the
money in the South Sea, I have already told you, that the thing to be
done, is the obtaining the renunciation from Pearson, which may do in
case the old gentleman be dead a year and a day (which you may inform
yourself, whether it be the time after which no other body can set up for
heir). I hope to have this by the next post. I must also repeat to you,
that I very much desire to have my last letter answered, particularly as to
the money matters ; which, depending only on Synge and you, I flatter
myself you will not defer. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble
servant,

GEOR. BERKELEY,

By the next post I shall hope for an account of my own money,
though it should require a day or two more before you can write satis-
factory on the other points. My last letters I directed to the Free Mason
Coffee-house, and inclosed as you ordered ; but not hearing, am in doubt
whether you received them.

Dear Tom,
I RECEIVED yours of the 13th, a little after I had wrote my last, directed
to the Custom-house Coffee-house. You say the letter of attorney for sub-
scribing the annuities into the South-Sea stock, show these annuities to
have been old Van Homrigh's. This would make all easy. 1 beg there-
fore that you would transmit that letter hither, or let us know how we
may come at it. As to my administering to Pearson, I do not under-
stand the consequences of it ; therefore hope it will not be necessary.
You say that if you cannot prevail on INIarshal to come in to an allow-
ance of the just debts, you will send me your opinion of them, that I may
govern myself accordingly. As to me, I know not how to act or govern
myself: I depend upon your compelling Marshal by legal methods, and
that you will take advice thereupon, and act accordingly. That was the
advantage that I proposed by your undertaking to act for me, and as my
attorney in the management of those affairs, viz. that you would see that
justice was done to the creditors and to me by Mr. Marshal, to whom I
was as much a stranger as to the business. I have said this and many
other things to you in my last, which I suppose you have received

122 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cri.

ere now; and as I am very earnest and instant, I doubt not you will
soon let me see that you exert yourself, and answer all my desires
specified in that and the foregoing letters. Dear Tom, I am at present
exceedingly embarrassed with much business of a very different kind. I
shall nevertheless administer as soon as I see that nothing else is wanting
in order to sell the stock, and pay the debts herewith : for every other
step I shall depend on you. I need not tell you what I formerly hinted
to you. You see I was too true a prophet, and that we have already lost
considerably by this delay.

I must desire you to pay forty pounds to my brother, Cornet William
Berkeley ^^ quartered in Sligo, or to his order in Dublin, for which you will
take a receipt, and place it to my account. You will, I presume, soon
hear from him.

In your next, pray let me know your opinion about the way of trans-
mitting about five hundred pounds hither, whether by bill or by draught,
from hence, or if there be any other way more advantageous. I must
once more entreat you, for the sake of old friendship, to pluck up a
vigorous active spirit, and disincumber me of the affairs relating to the
inheritance, by putting, one way or other, a final issue to them.

I thank God I find, in matters of a more difficult nature, good effects
of activity and resolution ; I mean Bermuda, with which my hands are
full, and which is in a fair way to thrive and flourish in spite of all oppo-
sition. I shall hope to hear from you speedily; and am, dear Tom,
vours affectionately,

GEOR. BERKELEY.

London, Jan. 27, 1725-6.

Dear Tom,

Mrs. Wogan and Aspinwall have not yet been able to see the act of
parliament, which I am pretty sure could be of little or no use if they
had seen it ; for as it passed several years before the South-Sea business,
it would never prove that Pearson acted as trustee in the subscriptions.
But if there be any paper (as you seem to intimate in your last), that sets
forth his trust in that particular, you need only procure the sight thereof,
and the business is done ; otherwise, for ought I can see, it is necessary
that Mr. Alderman Pearson's heir or heirs renounce, and that I administer
as to his effects in this province ; otherwise nothing can be done, as I
suppose you see by the paper of instructions sent you from Doctors'
Commons. Now that I may see my way in this matter, I must desire

'" This is the ouly allusion to his brother Wilham. Cf. p. 9.

IV.] Letters from Engiand. 123

you to inform me particularly what the nature of administering is, what it
obliges one to, and to what it may expose a man. I have not yet taken out
letters of administration to Mrs. V. Homrigh here, nor shall I, until I see
that it can be of use ; that is, until I see that every other step is accom-
plished towards the immediate selling the stock, and applying it as it
should be applied. What I wrote in my former concerning the year and
a day for administering, &c., has, I find, nothing in it, as I am now told
by Mr. Aspinwall, from whom I had it, and who, it seems, was mistaken.
I think I ought to tell you these things, that you may see where the stop
is, and that you may act accordingly. The affair of the creditors I must
recommend to you of course ; though I have nothing new to say, but
only that I earnestly refer you to what I have already written upon that
and other matters; which, after all that hath been said, I need not repeat.
I hope, dear Tom, that you will exert yourself once for all, and give a
masterly finishing stroke to the whole business of the executorship. If
it be not such a stroke as one could wish at law, yet a finishing one of
any sort, by arbitration of lawyers, or not lawyers, before I leave this
part of the world, would be very agreeable.

My brother ^^ hath informed me that Dr. Ward tells him Colonel
M'Casland is not inclined to add to the trouble of his other business that
of taking any further care of my tithes, &c. I must desire, if you can
find out the truth of this, to let me know it ; for it will be time for me to
look out for other farmers. I had once thought of employing a brother ^^
of my own, but have now no thought of that kind. I must desire you to
send me fifty pounds by the next post.

I am in a fair way of having a very noble endowment for the College
of Bermuda, though the late meeting of parliament, and the preparations
of a fleet, &c., will delay the finishing things, which depend in some
measure on the parliament, and to which I have gained the consent of
the government, and indeed of which I make no doubt; but only the
delay, it is to be feared, will make it impossible for me to set out this
Spring. One good effect of this evil delay, I hope, may be, that you will
have disembarrassed yourself of all sort of business that may detain you
here, and so be ready to go with us. In which case, I may have some-
what to propose to you that I believe is of a kind agreeable to your
inclinations, and may be of considerable advantage to you. But you
must say nothing of this to any one, nor of any one thing that I have
now hinted concerning endowment, delay, going, &c. I have heard

" Probably Robert. Peter Ward, D.D., ^s jsj^t Robert, I think, but one of the

was Subdean and one of the Prebendaries of other brothers.
Derry (1721-40).

124 ^{/^ ^>'^^ Letters of Berkeley. £ch.

lately from Caldwell, who wrote to me in an affair in which it will not be
in my power to do him any service. I answered his letter, and men-
tioned somewhat about Bermuda, with an overture for his being Fellow
there. I desire you would discourse with him as from yourself on that
subject, and let me know what your thoughts are of his disposition
towards engaging in that design. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate
friend and humble servant,

GEOR. BERKELEY.
London, Feb. 6, 1725-6.

Dear Tom,

I HAVE wrote to you on several points to which I have had no answer.
The bill indeed of fifty pounds I have received ; but the answer to other
points you postponed for a few posts. It is not yet come to hand, and
I long to see it. I shall nevertheless not repeat now what I have so
often insisted on, but refer you to my former letters, which I hope are
not forgotten, and that I shall be convinced they are not in a post or two.

In your last you mention your design of coming to London this
summer. I must entreat you to let me know by the first opportunity
-whether you persist in that design, and in what month you propose to
execute it, and as nearly as possible the very time. Pray fail not in this ;
I have particular reasons for desiring it.

There is one point that will not admit of any delay ; I mean the set-
ting my Deanery to farm. I told you that Dr. Ward had informed my
brother that Col. M'Casland (who hath his hands full of other business)
cared not to be any farther concerned in it. I must desire you, without
loss of time, to inform yourself whether this be so, and to let me know
what instrument I must send to you to empower you to set it. This by
all means I would be informed of the next post, that it may be set either
to the same persons who held it last, or else to Mr. Bolton, or some
other person of sufficient credit and substance and good reputation. I
do not doubt your setting it to the best advantage; only there is one
thing which I desire you to insist on, viz. that instead of the first of April
and the first of June, the days of payment for the current year, be the
first of December and the first of February, that so I may have the money
against my voyage to Bermuda, which possibly may not be till this time
twelvemonth. Whatever trouble you are at in this affair, I shall acknow-
ledge in the proper manner, and shew myself thankful for it. I thought
I should be able to have gone to Ireland, and transacted this affair
myself

IV.] Letters from England. 1 25

I had even once thought I should be able to have set out for Bermuda
this season ; but his Majesty's long stay abroad, the late meeting of par-
liament, and the present posture of foreign affairs, taking up the thoughts
both of ministers and parliament, have postponed the settling of certain
lands in St. Christopher's on our College, so as to render the said
thoughts abortive. I have now my hands full of that business, and hope
to see it soon settled to my wish. In the mean time, my attendance on
this business renders it impossible for me to mind my private affairs.
Your assistance, therefore, in them, will not only be a kind service to me,
but also to the public weal of our College ; which would very much suffer
if I were obliged to leave this kingdom before I saw an endowment
settled on it. For this reason I must depend upon you. So hoping to
hear from you upon this article by the first post, I conclude, dear Tom,
yours affectionately,

GEOR. BERKELEY.

London, March 15, 1725-6.

I need not tell you the time for setting my Deanery to farm is now so
nigh that it is necessary something be done out of hand.

Dear Tom,

Last Saturday I sent you the instrument impowering you to set my
Deanery. It is at present my opinion that matter had better be deferred
till the Charter of St. Paul's College hath got through the House of
Commons, who are now considering it. In ten days at farthest I hope
to let you know the event hereof; which, as it possibly may affect some
circumstance in the farming my said Deanery, is the occasion of giving
you this trouble for the present, when I am in the greatest hurry of
business I ever knew in my life ; and have only time to add that I am
yours,

G. B.

April 19, 1726.

Dear Tom,

After six weeks' struggle against an earnest opposition from different
interests and motives, I have yesterday carried my point just as I desired
in the House of Commons, by an extraordinary majority, none having
the confidence to speak against it, and not above two giving their nega-
tive ; which was done in so low a voice as if they themselves were
ashamed of it. They were both considerable men in stocks, in trade,

126 Life and Letter's of Bei^keley. [cii.

and in the city : and in truth I have had more opposition from that sort
of men, and from the governors and traders to America, than from any
others. But, God be praised, there is an end of all their narrow and
mercantile views and endeavours, as well as of the jealousies and sus-
picions of others (some whereof were very great men), who apprehended
this College may produce an independency in America, or at least lessen
its dependency upon England,

Now I must tell you, that you have nothing to do but go on with
farming my Deanery, &c., according to the tenor of my former letter,
which I suspended by a subsequent one till I should see the event of
yesterday. By this time you have received the letters of attorney for
Partinton's signing, in which I presume there will be no delay. Dear

Tom, yours, &c.

G. BERKELEY.
London, May 12, 1726.

What more easy than to cast an eye on the draught of the two sisters'
debts as stated by Clarke ? What more unaccountable than that this is
not yet done ?

London, June 9, 1726.
Dear Tom,

I AM surprised to find there are any debts left unpaid in Ireland,
having thought that debt of Henry's which you mention long since dis-
charged. I am sure I concluded that, with what money was left with
you, and what I laid out here (in discharge of debts whereof I acquainted
you), my share of the remaining Irish debts would have been reduced to
nothing. You formerly told me Marshal did not keep pace with me.
I hoped you would not think of paying anything more until he had
brought himself up to equaUty with me. I am also very much surprised
at your proposing to me to pay money for Marshal there, which you
say I may reimburse myself here, when I already told you that I would
never have been at the pains to administer here, if the effects on this
side the water were not allotted to pay English debts (which you made
me believe, in a former letter, should be done). And I have reason
to think that, after the payment of such English debts, nothing will be
left of these effects wherewith to reimburse myself any payment you
shall make for Marshal out of my money there. To your question,
therefore, whether you shall make such payment ? I do answer in the
negative. I am at a loss to explain what you mean by promising to
try to state the English debts from the materials you have before you.

IV.] Letters from England, 127

I ask two distinct questions : ist, Is there not among Mrs. V. Homrigh's
papers a catalogue of her debts clearly stated, as I am told by Mr.
Clarke t 2ndly, Why have I not a copy of such catalogue transmitted to
me ? Had I foreseen the difficulties I am reduced to for want of it,
I would have cast my eye on the papers myself, and have known what
the debts were before I left Ireland ; but I left that matter wholly to you.
You still do not stick to tell me that Marshal will do nothing; nay
(which is worse), that he will not allow any English debts at all, without
telling me one of his reasons. You (for example) averred to me in
Ireland, that Mrs. Perkins's appeared a just demand from Mrs. V. Hom-
righ's own papers; and I have seen here a note of Mrs. Esther V.
Homrigh, the younger, to Mr. Tooke, for fifty pounds, together with
interest of five per cent. Now I would fain know why are not these
debts to be paid and acknowledged as well as those in Ireland ? More-
over, I would fain know why book debts should not be paid here as well
as in Ireland ? In a word, why in any case a difference should be made
between English and Irish debts .'' I grant we should distinguish between
the mother's and the daughter's debts ; and it was to make this dis-
tinction that I so often (to no purpose) dunn'd you for a catalogue
of the daughter's debts, drawn up by her order, in Clarke's hand. But
I find it is to no purpose to write ; I long to talk to you by word of
mouth, either there or here.

Pray let me know next post when you design coming for England, for
I would go over to Derbyshire to meet you, in case you do not come
to London. On the other hand, I am very loath to be dragged to Ire-
land before the grant to our College is settled and perfected. I write in
great hurry ; but before I conclude must tell you, that the Dean of
Raphoe ^^ hath informed me of his desire to live in Derry : now I had
rather he should live in my house for nothing than a stranger for a
paltry rent. It is therefore my desire, that a stop may be put to any
disposition thereof till such time as the Dean can hear whether a house
be (pursuant to his order) already taken for him in Derry.

Dear Tom, write me something satisfactory about the debts by next

post, or send me a flat denial, that I may no longer expect it. Last

autumn you promised me a full state of my whole accounts, what hath

been received and what disbursed : having not received it, I must now

put you in mind again of it. In my last I desired that my money for

the last year of the Deanery be put in the hands of Swift and Company.

I am, yours,

G. BERKELEY.

^ William Cotterell (presented in 1725), afterwards Bishop of Ferns.

128 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

London, June 14, 1726.
Dear Tom,

I RECEIVED Mrs. M'Manus's account, in which there are certain articles
that I cannot approve of. First, The ferry ^* Mr. M'Manus himself told
me I should not pay; that charge having been for the late Dean's house-
hold, and the curates' passage when they were to preach his turns. But
as I have no household there, and as I have otherwise provided for
having my turns preached, there is no colour or occasion for my paying
it; and I am the more surprised at his charging it, because it was
against his own posidve opinion as well as my orders. Secondly, I do
not see why the repairing of the church windows should be charged to
me. Thirdly, I should have been acquainted with the paving of the
street, or any such matters, before he had laid out money on them.
Fourthly, I know not what those charges are which Mr. Maccasland is
said to be at for schoolmasters. I write not this as if I valued either
repairing the church windows or allowing somewhat to schoolmasters,
provided those things had been represented to me for my consent ; but
to be taxed without my knowledge is what I do not understand. It is
my duty not to suffer the Dean to be taxed at will, nor to connive at the
introducing new precedents to the wrong of my successors. To be
plain, Mr. M'Manus being desired by me to make a list of such constant
charges as the Dean should be at, I subscribed and warranted him to
pay the same. Since that time, by letter to him, I made some addidon
to the charity children ; but what is not warranted by that list, or by
some subsequent order or warrant of mine, should not be allowed by me.
However, for what is in the account you have sent me, I refer myself to
you ; only must beg you to signify to them that I shall never allow any-
thing for the time to come but what I am apprised of, and consent to
beforehand. So that no vouchers will do (without an order under my
own hand) for expenses not included in the list made by Mr. M'Manus,
and approved by me at Derry. This I believe you will think a reason-
able precaution, in order to prevent myself or successors being im-
posed on.

I am of opinion that you should immediately write to Messrs. Wogan
and Aspinwall, directing and impowering them to sell whenever, from
the circumstance of affairs, we shall think it proper so to do. Sudden
occasions happen which will not allow waidng for orders from Ireland.
We have already been great losers by that, which I very well foreknew

'* For the 'ferry,' cf. p. 101.

IV.] Letters front England. 129

here, though you knew nothing of it there ; though by this time you are
convinced the information 1 sent you last autumn was true. In short,
intelligence may be had here, but it can never there, time enough to be
of use. Yours affectionately,

G. B.

Dear Tom,

Yours of the 2nd and the 9th of July are come to my hands. What
you say in your last of the receipts in full, and the caution to be used
thereupon, had occurred to my own thoughts, and I acted accordingly.
With respect to Mrs. Philips and Mrs. Wilton, I found the former a
palpable cheat ; but the latter still stands out, that she never received, at
any time, any of Mrs. IMary's money. I must therefore desire you to
look a second time on the receipt you mention from her to Mrs. Mary ;
for you might possibly have been mistaken. I thought, when in Ireland,
that you owned Mrs. Parkins's to be a true debt. Pray give me your
thoughts particularly upon it. The same I desire on the charges for the
mother's funeral, which, if in right they are to be paid by us, I cannot
understand what you mean by the creditor's abating one half of his
demand. I am glad to find that you will take advice upon the dubious
debts. Pray do it soon : and when that is done, I shall hope for one
list from you, containing your own judgment upon the whole, of what
debts are to be discharged by the money here. The exact sum of the
annuities received by Messrs. Wogan and Aspinwall I do not remember,
but it is about £190. The next time I write you may know exactly.

I have considered aboutt he house ^^, and am come to this resolution :
If Dr. Ward be in Dublin, pray give my service to him, and tell him my
house is at his service, upon condition only that he keep it in repair, and
rid me of all charges about it, as hearth-money or the like. I had some
time since a letter from him, desiring the use of it on these terms ; but
the offer I had made the Dean of Raphoe disabled me for that time from
giving him the answer I now desire you to do, because I know not where
to write to him myself, he having been about to leave Chester for Ireland
when I received his letter. But at present I think myself at liberty, it
being about six weeks since the Dean was with me, since which time I
have not heard from him, though I then desired he would let me have
his answer forthwith. As to setting it, I am less inclined that way,
because Dr. Ward, being Subdean, is at some trouble on my account,

^ The Deanery-house at Derry. Cf. notes 31, 33.
VOL, IV. R

I30 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

and I would willingly oblige him. You may therefore drop it to him,
that I prefer his having it rent-free to a rent of twenty pounds, which
you think I may get from another.

As to the account you have sent me of receipts and disbursements,
I must observe to you, with respect to one particular, that when I made
you a proposal of being concerned in the affairs accruing to me by the
death of Mrs. V. Homrigh, the terms which I proposed, and you agreed
to, were these, viz. that if you would undertake the trouble of settling
that whole matter, when it was settled I should allow you twelve pence
in the pound out of the profits arising therefrom. I never designed,
therefore, nor promised to allow any thing, till the whole was settled ;
nor was it reasonable, or indeed possible, that I should : Not reasonable,
because the main reason for which I made such proposal of is. per
pound, was the difficulty of disembrangling our affairs with Partinton ;
which difficulty seems hardly to have been touched hitherto, at least I do
not find that any thing to the purpose hath been done since I left
Ireland : — Not possible, because, till the debts are paid, and affairs
settled with Partinton, I cannot know what doth, or what doth not, come
to my share. It was my desire to have things concluded as soon as
possible ; and in order to this, I expected more would be done by you
than by another. I chose therefore putting my affairs into your hands
rather than into Mr. Dexter's or Mr. Donne's ; one of whom, if you had
declined it, I was resolved on. I was also willing, for that end, to allow
more than is commonly allowed to solicitors or agents.

For these reasons, and especially because I shall have, on many
accounts, pressing occasion for what money I can raise against my
departure (which I propose to be next Spring), I must desire you to
desist for the present from paying yourself, and to pay the whole of my
money into the hands of Swift and Company, by them to be transmitted
to me in England upon demand ; and I shall leave a note behind me
with you, which shall intitle you in the fullest and clearest manner to the
said twelve pence in the pound. I must desire you to let me know
whether you have obliged the farmers of my deanery to make all future
payments to my order in Dublin, as I directed. I should be glad to see
a copy of the articles you concluded with them, which you may send me
per post. I am surprised at what you tell me of Mr. Synge's paying
III pounds to Mr. Bindon on my account, which, on a second inquiry,
you must find a mistake. I had received only one hundred English
from Mr. Bindon, who (because he wanted it in Ireland) let me have it
on the same terms that the banker was, to supply him there, by which I
saved about 30 shillings in the exchange ; and so I drew on Mr. Synge

IV.] Letters from E7igland. 131

for one hundred and ten pounds odd money, Irish. I shall hope to
hear from you next post, after the receipt hereof, and that you will then
tell me your resolution about coming to England. For myself, I can
resolve nothing at present, when or whether I shall see Ireland at all,
being employed on much business here. I am, dear Tom, your affec-
tionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.
London^ July 19, 1726.

I have heard from Mr. M'Manus; and by this post have wrote an
answer, insisting that I will not allow any thing for the ferry, it being a
gross imposition, and cdntrary both to his own advice and my express
orders.

Dear Tom,

The stocks being higher than they have been for this long time, and,
as I am informed, not likely to rise higher, I have consented to their
being sold, and have directed Messrs. Wogan and Aspinwall to write you
word thereof as soon as they are disposed of, with an account of their
amounts. I hoped you would have sent me a copy of the articles for
farming my deanery, that I may see whether they are according to my
mind ; particularly whether the money is made payable to my order in
Dublin, as I directed, for special reasons. I likewise expected a copy
of the last balance, the deductions being larger than I can account for.
I have spoke with Mr. Binden, who tells me he received within a trifle,
under or over, one hundred and eleven pounds from Ned Synge. I have
wrote to Ned Synge to let him know his mistake. I have also wrote to
him and Mr. Norman to pay the money in their hands to Swift and
Company, in order to have it transmitted hither.

I desire to know whether you come to England, at what time, and to
what place, that I may contrive to see you, for I may chance not to be
in London, designing to pass some time in the country ^^ ; but I would
steer my course so as to be in your way in case you came on this side
the water.

Mrs. Wilton persists that she never gave a receipt to Mrs. Mary, I
must therefore desire you to send me her receipt inclosed in your next.
As to Mr. Tooke's bond or note, you desire to know whether it be
sealed ; which particular I do not remember : but I remember that it

^•^ Another of his rural excursions in England.
K 2

132 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch,

mentions interest ; and I desire to know whether, in point of right, such
interest should not be paid ; and whether it would not seem odd to pro-
pose defalcating any part of a man's right for want of form, when it
plainly appeared to be intended ? In short, I would know upon what
principles you proceed, when you say he may be contented with no
interest, or with half interest. By this post I suppose you will receive
from Mr. Aspinwall an account of the sum-total of the transfer, &c. I
am plagued with duns, and tired with put-offs, and therefore long to see
it applied to pay them : but, in order to this, must desire you to send me
two distinct lists, one of the undoubted legal demands, another of the
equitable, that so I may have your opinion, in distinct terms, of what
should be paid in law, and what in conscience. This was not answered
by your last letter's observations, which nevertheless show you may
easily do it ; and it is no more than what you had promised to do before.
I shall therefore expect such lists from you in a post or two. I am, dear
Tom, your affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

London, Aug. 4, 1726.

You mentioned a friend of Synge's who was desirous to be one of
our Fellows. Pray let me know who he is, and the particulars of his
character. There are many competitors ; more than vacancies ; and the
fellowships are likely to be very good ones : so I would willingly see
them well bestowed.

Dear Tom,

It is a long time since I have heard from you, and am willing to sup-
pose that some of your letters are miscarried. I have quitted my old
lodging, and desire you to direct your letters to be left for me with Mr.
Smibert^', painter, next door to the King's Arms tavern, in the little piazza,
Covent Gorden.

I desired a copy of the articles concluded on with the farmers of my
deanery. I likewise desired the receipt of JNIrs. Wilton, and the particular
catalogues of the debts, in the manner you promised. I must now re-
peat the same desires. As for the articles and bonds, I have thought
proper to lodge them with Mr. Synge, who hath a fixed abode in town,
and will take care to place them securely among his own papers. You
will therefore deliver them to him. As I have occasion for my money
to be gathered in and placed with Mr. Swift and Company, in order to

^' This is the first mention of Smibert the 1 725, now in the possession of the Rev. Dr.
artist. He made a portrait of Berkeley in Irons of Brompton.

IV.] Letters from England. 133

be transmitted hither, I have wrote to IM'Manus and Mr. Norman ; to
the former, to send me the balance of accounts for last year ; to the
latter, to pay the money you told me lay in his hands to Swift and Com-
pany : but hitherto I do not find either done. Mr. Aspinwall hath some
time since informed you that the total of the eifects transferred by him
amounts to eight hundred and forty pounds odd money, out of which
charges are to be deducted. He hath shewed me the bill of these in
Doctors' Commons, which amount to about fourteen pounds. Some
Other money laid out by him, together with the fees for his own trouble,
I have not yet seen the account of. I think you had better write to him
by the next post to transmit the third part of the overplus sum to Swift
and Company, for the use of Partinton Van Homrigh ; who, when he
hath got his share remitted, can have nothing to complain of; and, as
you have hitherto treated in his behalf with Messrs. Wogan and Aspin-
wall, your orders will be followed therein by them more properly than
mine. I had almost forgot to repeat to you, that I want to know what
reason there is for disputing any part of the interest on the note to
Mr. Tooke, whether it be sealed or no.

Let me know in your next what you resolve about coming to England,
and when. I shall trouble you with no more at present, from, dear Tom,

yours affectionately,

G. BERKELEY.
London^ August 24, 1726.

Dear Tom,

I RECEIVED yours; and accordingly went to Messrs. Wogan and
•Aspinwall, who promised to transmit the money drawn for by Partinton,
which I suppose is due. T desired them to let me have their bill of
charges ; which they also promised against the next time I saw them.

As for the clamour of the people of Derry, I have not, nor ever shall
have, the least regard for it, so long as I know it to be unjust and
groundless : it being so false to suggest that I am for allowing less than
my predecessors, that I am now actually at seventy-six pound per annum
constant expence more than any of them ever were, having just now
directed Dr. Ward to provide a new curate for Coll. Sampson's island,
and having formerly appointed another additional curate in Derry to
preach my turns, as likewise having added to the number of charity
children, which are annual expences, not to mention repairing the
chancel, &c. ; nothing of which kind I ever was against. I did not
indeed like (nor would any man in his senses) that people should make

134 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

articles of expence without acquainting me, or dispose of my money
(though it were to good uses) without my consent previously obtained.
But all this while I have gainsaid nothing but the ferry, and that for
reasons I formerly gave you ; not that I valued the expence, which was
a trifle, but that I would not be imposed on myself, nor entail an impo-
sition on my successor : for there is no man so unknowing or negligent
in affairs as not to be sensible that little impositions lead to great ones.
But as to that matter, M'Manus having informed me that Dr. Ward had
engaged I would pay the ferry-money, I have wrote to Dr. Ward to
know the truth of that, and his judgment whether the same should be
continued, being resolved to comply therewith. As to what you write
about my making a difficulty of leaving 58 pounds in M'Manus's hands
for the curates, it is a mistake. The sum charged in his account is
about 140 pounds, not for charges paid, but to be paid; and not only to
curates, but for several other purposes. I never meant but the curates
should be punctually paid ; nobody need be at any pain about that : but
I thought, as they were paid the first year (when the farmers had no
money of mine in their hands), so they might have been paid the sub-
sequent years out of the running income. I thought likewise, and still
think, that the rents of the glebe, and the dues formerly farmed to the
clerk, are sufficient to make the November payment, without M'Manus's
advancing one penny, and without his retaining my income of the pre-
ceding year, especially when the tithes of the current become payable a
little after. As my money is not at interest, it is much the same whether
these payments be stopt now or next January; but it was necessary
to observe what I thought wrong, to prevent people's growing upon me,
I still want the lists you promised me of the debts (legal and equitable),
in order to make the payments, that the business on this side the water
(which hath already cost me much trouble) may be at length dispatched.
In your next, I desire to be informed what the mistake is which you
observe in M'Manus's account, and likewise what you say to his telling
me there were no deductions made from the 650 pounds of Coll. Mac-
casland's moiety, as I observed to you already in my last.

As to what you say of matrimony, I can only answer, that as I have
been often married by others, so I assure you I have never married
myself. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.
London, Sept. 13, 1726.

Before you went to the country, you told me about eight hundred
pounds of the last year's income would be paid to Swift, (fee. I desire to

IV.] Letters from England. 135

know whether it be so, or what it is. In my last I sent you what
appeared in M'Manus's letter to me ; but you are of opinion he mistook
in my prejudice.

Dear Tom,

I HAVE received your letter, and write you this in haste. I am much
importuned by the creditors, and at a loss how to deal with them. Why
should not Comyng's debt for the funeral be wholly paid ? I have seen
a letter under Mrs. Esther's hand promising to pay it : this was wrote to
one Lancaster. What you say of paying half of this and other debts I
cannot comprehend : Either they are due and should be all paid, or not
due and none paid. I have seen a promissory note of Mrs. Esther's to
Mrs. Hill, whereof I send you subjoined a copy. Let me know your
opinion, and take advice of others on the nature of a note so worded ;
and whether it obligeth absolutely, or only as far as the mother's assets
will go. What shall I do with Mr. Fisher, who claims twenty-three
pounds odd money from Mrs. Mary, and about six pounds for Mrs.
Esther, all for goods delivered since the mother's death. A day or two
before I received your letter, I had paid three pound odd money to
Mrs. Wilton, being no longer able to withstand her importunity, and
despairing of seeing her receipt. The truth is, she showed me a letter
wrote several months after the date of that receipt from Mrs. Mary,
acknowledging herself indebted, but mentioning no sum, I therefore
paid that bill, which was dated after the day of clearing, and no more.
What must be done with Farmer } and, above all, what must be done
with the milliner Mrs. Du Puis or Du Pee ? I before mentioned her to
you : She gives me great trouble. It would be endless to go through all.
I desire a word in particular to each of these. To put them off till your
coming in the spring, is utterly impracticable ; they having been amused
with hopes of seeing you all last summer : and it being rumoured that I
intend to leave Europe next spring, what M'ould such a put-off look like.
In the account of demands you formerly sent me, you, or rather in your
notes upon the demands, you often mentioned Mr. Clarke's catalogue,
without signifying what catalogue that is, whether one sent from hence,
or one wrote there for the use of Mrs. Esther, or Mrs. Mary in her life-
time. If the latter, pray let me know it ; such a catalogue would be of
great use to prevent impositions. I should be glad of a copy of it. You
observe it differs frequently from accounts sent from hence ; for instance,
it contains about half of Fisher's demand from Mxs. Mary, if I take you

136 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cii.

right. It should follow therefore, that Fisher should be paid, at least so
much— should it not ? Send a copy of that catalogue, with the time
when it was drawn up. You often mention an act of Parliament to pre-
vent frauds, which you say makes for us. Pray send me a distinct
abstract of that act, or at least of the substance and purport of it. The
note shewed me by Mrs. Hill is in the following words :

'London, January 28, 1 7 13-14.— 1 Esther Van Homrigh, junior, do
promise to pay to Katharine Hill the sum of thirty-three pounds eleven
shillings and sixpence, on the 28th day of April next, for my mother
Mrs. Esther Van Homrigh, being her sole executrix, as witness my
hand.

Witnesses present E. VaX. HoiIRIGH.

Win. Br ten ley.
Anne Kmdan!

I desire you will give me your opinion clearly upon this note. I like-
wise desire you to satisfy me in these three points; \st, Whether
Mrs. Mary was minor during the whole time of her living with her
mother .? 2dly, Whether the mother died indebted to Mrs. INIary, or had
spent part of her fortune ? ^dly, Whether the things which Mrs. Mary
had during her minority were charged by the mother, and the mother
satisfied for the same ?

I entreat you satisfy me instantly as to the points contained in this
letter ; after which, I shall speedily expect an answer to the matters in
my former letters, which now I have not time to repeat, or say any more
but that I am, dear Tom, yours affectionately,

G. BERKELEY.

London, Nov. 5, 1726.

Dear Tom,

I HAVE wrote to you often for certain eclaircissements which are abso-
lutely necessary to settle matters with the creditors, who importune me
to death. You have no notion of the misery I have undergone, and do
daily undergo, on that account. I do therefore earnestly entreat you to
answer all that I have queried on that head without delay, and at the
same time resolve me in what follows.

Have you any letter or entry that takes notice of Mr. Collins as a
creditor to Mrs. Esther, junior } He hath produced to me two notes
of hers, one for ten, the other for four pound odd money. Mrs.
Farmer demands, for hosiers goods, near six pound from Mrs. Mary,
and one pound nineteen from Mrs. Esther. I have seen her books,

IV,] Letters from England. 137

and by them it appears something is due ; but in some places it looks
as if they had transferred the mother's debts to the daughter. Pray
tell me distinctly and intelligibly what appears to you from the papers
of this. You have told me that this, with many other demands,
are only the mother's debts. Pray tell me withal your reasons for
this, that the creditors themselves may be satisfied hereof, for they
will not take your word or mine for it. First, Let me know what
appears to you to have been supplied by each creditor for Mrs. Mary's
use. 2dlv, Let me know upon what grounds you conceive that and no
more to have been so supplied, ^(^ly, Be distinct in giving your opinion,
whether a minor be not chargeable for eatables and wearables supplied
on the credit of another, or on their own credit, during the minority .'*
Whether it appears that Mrs. Mary was ever charged by her mother for
those things ? Lastly, Let me know what you think was distinctly sup-
plied for Mrs. Mary's use, used by her, and never paid for ; it being my
opinion such debts should be discharged inforo conscientioe, though per-
haps the law might not require it, on score of minority or length of time.

For God's sake disembrangle these matters, that I may once be at
ease to mind my other affairs of the College, which are enough to employ
ten persons. You promised a distinct tripartite list, which I never got.
The observations you have sent are all of them either so ambiguous and
indecisive as to puzzle only, or else precarious ; that is, unsupported by
reasons to convince me or others. Now, I suppose where you give a
positive opinion you have reasons for it ; and it would have been right
to have sent these reasons distinctly and particularly. I will not repeat
what I have said in my former letters, but hope for your answer to all
the points contained in them, and immediately to what relates to dis-
patching the creditors. I propose to make a purchase of land (which is
very dear) in Bermuda, upon my first going thither; for which, and for
other occasions, I shall want all the money I can possibly raise against
my voyage. For this purpose, it would be a mighty service to me if the
aff"air with Partinton were adjusted this winter, by reference or compro-
mise. The state of all that business, which I desired you to send me, I
do now again earnestly desire. What is doing or has been done in that
matter ? Can you contrive no way for bringing Partinton to an imme-
diate sale of the remaining lands .'' What is your opinion and advice
upon the whole } What prospect can I have if I leave things at sixes
and sevens when I go to another world, seeing all my remonstrances,
even now that I am near at hand, are to no purpose } I know money is
at present on a very high foot of exchange : I shall therefore wait a little,
in hopes it may become lower ; but it will at all events be necessary to

138 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

draw over my money. I have spent here a matter of six hundred pounds

more than you know of, for which I have not yet drawn over.

As to what you write of Robin, I am glad to find that others think he

behaves well: I am best judge of his behaviour to me. There is a

way of resenting past favours, and there is a way of asking future ones ;

and in both cases a right and a wrong. I had some other points to

speak to, but am cut short, and have only time to add, that 1 am yours

affectionately,

G. BERKELEY.

London, N'ov. 12, 1726.

Dece?fiher i, 1726.
Dear Tom,

I HAVE lately received several letters of yours, which have given me a
good deal of light with respect to Mrs. V. Homrigh's affairs ; but I am
so much employed on the business of Bermuda, that I have hardly time
to mind any thing else. I shall nevertheless snatch the present moment
to write you short answers to the questions you propose.

As to Bermuda, it is now on a better and surer foot than ever. After
the address of the Commons, and his Majesty's most gracious answer,
one would have thought all difficulties had been got over: but much
opposidon hath been since raised (and that by very great men) to the
design. As for the obstacles thrown in my way by interested men,
though there hath been much of that, I never regarded it, no more
than the clamours and calumnies of ignorant mistaken people : but in
good truth it was with much difficulty, and the peculiar blessing of God,
that the point was carried maugre the strong opposidon in the cabinet
council ; wherein, nevertheless, it hath of late been determined to go on
with the grant, pursuant to the address of the House of Commons, and
to give it all possible dispatch. Accordingly his Majesty hath ordered
the warrant for passing the said grant to ^be drawn. The persons
appointed to contrive the draught of the warrant are the Solicitor-
GeneraP', Baron Scroop of the Treasury, and (my very good friend)
INIr. Hutchinson^'*. You must know that in July last the Lords of the
Treasury had named commissioners for taking an estimate of the value
and quantity of the Crown lands in St. Christophers, and for receiving
proposals either for selling or farming the same for the benefit of the
public. Their report is not yet made ; and the Treasury were of opinion

3' Charles Talbot, Lord Chancellor in 1 733. Hutchinson,' as a friend of Berkeley's, some-
He was son of the Bishop of Durham, and where in the Gent. Mag., but I hare mislaid
brother of Edward Talbot, Butler's friend. the reference.

^'■' There is, I think, a notice of 'Archibald

IV.] Letters from England. 1 39

they could not make a grant to us till such time as the whole were sold
or farmed pursuant to such report. But the point I am now labouring
is to have it done, without delay ; and how this may be done without em-
barrassing the Treasury in their after disposal of the whole lands was
this day the subject of a conference between the Solicitor-General,
IMr. Hutchinson, and myself. The method agreed on is by a rent-charge
on the whole crown lands, redeemable upon the crown's paying twenty
thousand pounds, for the use of the President and Fellows of St. Paul's,
and their successors. Sir Robert Walpole hath signified that he hath no
objection to this method ; and I doubt not Baron Scroop will agree to it ;
by which means the grant may be passed before the meeting of parlia-
ment, after which we may prepare to set out on our voyage in April. I
have unawares run into this long account because you desired to know
how the affair of Bermuda stood at present.

You also desire I would speak to Ned. You must know Ned hath
parted from me ever since the beginning of last July. I allowed him six
shillings a week besides his annual wages ; and beside an entire livery, I
gave him old clothes, which he made a penny of; but the creature grew
idle and worthless to a prodigious degree. He was almost constantly
out of the way ; and when I told him of it he used to give me warning.
I bore with this behaviour about nine months, and let him know I did it
in compassion to him, and in hopes he would mend ; but finding no
hopes of this, I was forced at last to discharge him, and take another,
who is as diligent as he was negligent. When he parted from me, I paid
him between six and seven pounds which was due to him, and likewise
gave him money to bear his charges to Ireland, whither he said he was
going. I met him t'other day in the street ; and asking why he was not
gone to Ireland to his wife and child, he made answer that he had neither
wife nor child. He got, it seems, into another service since he left me,
but continued only a fortnight in it. The fellow is silly to an incredible
degree, and spoiled by good usage.

I shall take care the pictures be sold in an auction. Mr. Smibert,
whom I know to be a very honest, skilful person in his profession, will
see them put into an auction at the proper time, which he tells me is not
till the town fills with company, about the meeting of parliament.

As to Bacon, I know not what to do with him. I spoke often to
Messrs. Wogan and Aspinwall about him. Mr. Aspinwall also spoke to
him, and threatened him with bringing the affair into court ; and he still
promised, and always broke his promise. I always, for my part, insisted
they should prosecute him ; and, since your mentioning him in your
letter, have done it in stronger terms than evi r, but to no purpose ; for,

140 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

upon the whole, I find they decline meddling with it. They say the
fellow is a knave, and skilful in delays of law and attorneys' tricks,
and that he may keep us employed for several years ; that it is a matter
out of their sphere ; i i short, they do not care to be employed in this
affair. When I saw the man, I did not like his looks nor manner, and
am now quite at a loss what to do with him. The whole expense they
charge for management in South Sea House, and at Doctors' Commons,
together with their own trouble, amounts to thirty-nine pounds ten
shillings and sixpence. I have bills of the particulars. Some of the
creditors I have paid ; but there are many more unpaid, whose demands
I could not yet ac'just. The first leisure I have I shall try to do it, by
the help of the lights I have now got. As to M'Manus, I am content to
favour him so far as to forbear his paying that part of my income on the
first of January which was stipulated to be then paid ; but then the
whole must be paid punctually on the first of February. I say I shall
have necessary occasion for the whole income of the present year to be
paid, without fail, on the first of February next ; and I wish he may have
timely notice from you of this. I formerly gave him warning myself;
but since he has wrote to you, it is fit he know this answer. ]\Iy affairs
absolutely require this ; and I expect that he will not, upon any pretext,
disappoint me. You tell me what is to be done with Mr. Tooke's note,
in case it be a bond in form, or a simple promissory note, or a promis-
sory note with interest sealed ; but still you omit what (to the best of my
remembrance) is the true case, to tvit, a promissory note unsealed, to pay
the principal with interest. Before I closed this letter, the bond was
brought me, sealed, witnessed, and bearing interest, making, with the
principal, eighty pound, which I have paid this moment ; so that I was
mistaken in thinking it a note, being a bond in form. In your last but
one, you sent two opposite opinions of Howard and Marshal concerning
Mrs. Hill's note, but promised to give your own, and to be more clear in the
point in your next, which it seems you forgot to do. I have in a former
letter desired you to send me over an abstract of the state of our case in
dispute with Partinton, and a full account of our demands upon him.
You have told me indeed where the point sticks at present ; but you
may see that this does not fully answer my desire. I want to know (as
if I had never heard anything of the matter) a full account of that whole
affair stated, what our demands amount to in each particular, and what
expectations there are of succeeding, and grounds for prosecuting, the
said demands respectively. I remember to have told you I could know
more of matters here than perhaps people generally do. You thought
we did wrong to sell ; but the stocks are fallen, and depend upon it

IV,] Letters from England. 141

they will fall lower. In a former letter, I acquainted you that I desired
the bonds may be lodged with Ned Synge, who will call for them.
Yours,

G. BERKELEY.

In the writings of Pope, Swift, and Arbuthnot, about this time,
we meet with occasional playful allusions to Bermuda, in prose
and verse. In September, Pope exults with Swift, that they may
live where they please, ' in Wales, Dublin, or Bermudas.' In
November, Arbuthnot refers to the cry for war in London, pro-
duced by the total stoppage of trade, and proposes to rig out a
privateer for the West Indies. ' Will you be concerned ? We
will build her at Bermudas, and get Mr. Dean Berkeley to be our
manager.' The proposed ' manager ' was as bent as ever upon his
enterprise, through all the discouragements of 1727, and the vexa-
tious embarrassments of the Vanhomrigh business. George I died,
and George II was proclaimed in June. He has again la mer a hotre.
But within a month he had a new Warrant for his Grant, signed
by the young King, and the lost ground was thus recovered. He
was then anxious to visit Dublin, and, for some inscrutable reason,
to live there, in the suburbs, in strict privacy, unobserved by his
old friends. The following letters to Prior in 1737 tell their own
story: —

Lo7idon, Feb. 27, 1726-7.
Dear Tom,

The packets you speak of you may direct, under cover, to the right
honourable Thomas, Earl of Pomfret*", in Hanover Square; but then you
riiust take care that no one packet be above a certain quantity or weight,
and thereby exceed the limits of franking : in which case the frank I
know will not be regarded, and the papers may miscarry. What the
precise limits are I know not ; any body there can inform you.

I send you herewith an account of our affairs transacted by Wogan
and Aspinwall. You may observe in the account of Mr. Gyles (em-
ployed by them) a half guinea blotted out, which I paid separately for
an extract of a Will relating to Bermuda, and which by mistake was
inserted in this account, to which it had no relation.

The pictures were all sold for forty-five pounds, at an auction which
was held last week in Covent Garden, at the house of one i\Ir. Russel,

^* With whom his friend Benson travelled in Italy some years before. He was the first
Earl, and died in 1753.

142 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

a painter. They were sold publicly and fairly among several other
pictures. The truth of it is, that of late years the taste lies so much
towards Italian pictures, many of which are daily imported, that Dutch
pictures go off but heavily. Mr. Smibert did not think they would have
brought so much,

I have taken the utmost care to keep myself within the limits of your
directions in the payments I have hitherto made, and shall continue to
act with the same caution, Mr, IMarshal cannot long more than I do to
put an end to this matter of my administration, which I was willing to
have declined, if he had thought good to accept it. But the constant
hurry of business I have on my hands, together with my not being able
to find out some of the creditors, hath hitherto unavoidably delayed it.
However, I have paid between two and three hundred pounds, and shall
finish all as soon as possible. Mr, Clarke I have not seen this long
time, I suppose he is ashamed for my having found out that he was to
receive a sum of money from Mrs. Philips, whose unjust debt he had
undertaken to get paid. This, and his not giving me the notice Alder-
man Barber said he desired him to give before the sale of the jewels,
makes me think very indifferently of him. Besides, there is no sort of
consistency between the accounts of creditors, as given in by him, and
their own demands, which still strengthens my suspicion of him. As to
the sum to be paid into Swift and Company, and the deductions to be
made for curates, &c., I only desire that all may be done on the foot
you told me you had agreed with Mr. M'Manus, and whereof you stated
the account in a letter I have by me, and which I need not transcribe,
because I suppose you remember it. As to the sale of the reversionary
lands, I desire it may be done as soon as possible ; and not to stand
out, but to take the best terms you can. As to the rest, I long to see
it all finished by arbitration.

My going to Bermuda I cannot positively say when it will be, I have
to do with very busy people at a very busy time. I hope nevertheless to
have all that business completely finished in a few weeks. I am, dear
Tom, yours,

G, B.

London, April 11, 1727.
Dear Tom,

In my last I made no mention of any sums of my money applied to
the payment of debts, or other purposes common to Mr. Marshal and
me, because I suppose you have taken care that he keep equal pace
with me : if he be deficient, this is the only time to right myself. As

IV.] Letters from England. 143

to those you call dubious debts, and those which, being contracted in
the mother's lifetime, are payable by Partinton, I should be glad to hear
your opinion in a line or two, since I am not allowed to act otherwise
than by strict legal justice. Thus much I think Mr. Marshal and myself
are obliged to, viz. to pay those debts if nothing be stopt for them by
Partinton; and if there be, to advertise the creditors thereof. Since my
last, I paid what you allowed to be due to Mrs. Farmer (now Mrs.
Reed). For this and all other payments I have receipts or notes which
I propose bringing with me to Ireland.

And now I mention my coming to Ireland, I must earnestly desire
you, by all means, to keep this a secret from every individual creature.
I cannot justly say what time (probably some time next month) I shall
be there, or how long; but find it necessary to be there to transact
matters with one or two of my associates (who yet I would not have
know of my coming till I am on the spot), and, for several reasons, am
determined to keep myself as secret and concealed as possible all the
time I am in Ireland. In order to this, I make it my request that you
will hire for me an entire house, as neat and convenient as you can get,
somewhere within a mile of Dublin, for half a year. But what I prin-
cipally desire is, that it be in no town or village, but in some quiet
private place, out of the way of roads, or street, or observation. I would
have it hired with necessary furniture for kitchen, a couple of chambers,
and a parlour. At the same time, I must desire you to hire an honest
maid servant, who can keep it clean, and dress a plain bit of meat : a
man servant I shall bring with me. You may do all this either in your
own name, or as for a friend of yours, one Mr. Brown (for that is the
name I shall assume), and let me know it as soon as possible. There
are several little scattered houses with gardens about Clantarfe, Rath-
farnum, &c. I remember particularly the old castle of Ramines, and a
little white house upon the hills by itself, beyond the Old Men's Hos-
pital, likewise in the outgoings or fields about St. Kevin's, &c. In short,
in any snug private place within half a mile or a mile of town. I would
have a bit of a garden to it, no matter what sort. Mind this, and you'll
oblige your aff"ectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

Dear Tom,
. Things being as you say, I think you were in the right to pay only
100 pounds to Mr. Marshal at present. I have drawn on you for 12
pounds, which my B. Robin will call for.

144 ^?)^ ^''^^ Letters of Berkeley. [cii.

I would by all means have a place secured for me by the end of June:
it may be taken only for three months. I hope you will not have left
Ireland before my arrival.

I take it for granted you have paid what I directed for I\Ir. Partinton
Van Homrigh's share of the pictures. I sent the answer to his bill
engrossed by post, and shall be glad to hear you have got it. I long to
hear the sale of lands (reversionary) perfected to Mr. ConoUy.

I am (God be praised) very near concluding the crown grant to our
College, having got over all difficulties and obstructions, which were not
a few. I conclude, in great haste, dear Tom, yours,

G. BERKELEY.

Londoti, May 20, 1727.

Dear Tom,

Poor Caldwell's" death I had heard of two or three posts before I
received your letter. Had he lived, his life would not have been agree-
able. He was formed for retreat and study ; but of late was grovvn fond
of the world, and getting into business.

A house between Dublin and Drumcondra I can by no means approve
of: the situation is too public; and what I chiefly regard is privacy. I
like the situation of Lord's house much better, and have only one ob-
jection to it, which is your saying he intends to use some part of it
himself; for this would be inconsistent with my view of being quite
concealed ; and the more so because Lord knows me, which of all things
is what I would avoid. His house and price would suit me. If you can
get such another, quite to myself, snug, private, and clean, with a stable,
I shall not matter whether it be painted or no, or how it is furnished,
provided it be clean and warm. I aim at nothing magnificent or grand
(as you term it), which might probably defeat my purpose of continuing
concealed.

You have more than once talked of coming to England without
coming : perhaps you may alter your mind now as well as heretofore ;
but you are best judge of that. I desire to know when your business
requires your being in England 1 — whether you come to London .? — and
how long you propose staying on this side of the water .? I am sure it
will be at least a full month before I can reach Dublin. If you come
over immediately, and make but a very short stay, possibly I might
defer my going, to attend you in your return. At all events, I should be
sorry we missed of each other by setting out at the same time, which
may occasion my seeing you neither there nor here,

*' Cf. pp. 1 10, 114, 124.

IV.] Letters from Englana. 145

The bell-man calls for my letter, so I shall add no more but that I am
your affectionate humble servant,

GEORGE BERKELEY.
London, Ju7ie 13, 1727.

Pray let me hear from you next post.

Dear Tom,

Yesterday we had an account of King George's death. This day
King George II was proclaimed. All the world here are in a hurry, and
I as much as any body ; our grant being defeated by the King's dying
before the broad seal was annexed to it, in order to which it was passing
through the offices. I have la mer a boire again. You shall hear from
me when I know more. At present I am at a loss what course to take.
Pray answer my last speedily. Yours,

G. B.

Lo7idon, June 15, 1727.

London, June 27, 1727.
Dear Tom,

Yesterday I received your letter, containing an account of your
design about coming to England, In a former letter, I gave you to know
that my affairs M-ere ravell'd by the death of his Majesty. I am now
beginning on a new foot, and with good hopes of success. The warrant
for our grant had been signed by the King, countersigned by the Lords
of the Treasury, and passed the Attorney General. Here it stood when
the express came of the King's death. A new warrant is now preparing,
which must be signed by his present Majesty, in order to a patent
passing the broad seal.

As soon as this affair is finished, I propose going to Ireland. I cannot
certainly say when that will be ; but sure I am it will not be time enough
to find you there, if you continue your scheme of coming over the next
month. It is unlucky that we should both think of crossing the sea at
the same time. But as you seem to talk doubtfully of your design, I
hope it may suit with your conveniency to alter it ; in which case we
may probably come together to England.

The changes of ministry you talk of are at present but guessed at ; a
little time will show. Yours, &c.

G. BERKELEY.

VOL. IV. L

146 Life and Letters of Berketey, [ch.

Dear Tom,

This is to inform you, thkt I have obtained a new warrant for a grant,
signed by his present Majesty, contrary to the expectations of my friends,
who thought nothing could be expected of that kind in this great hurry
of business. As soon as this grant (which is of the same import with
that begun by his late Majesty) hath passed the offices and seals, I
purpose to execute my design of going to Ireland. In case, therefore,
you continue your purpose of coming to England this summer, I must
desire you to leave all papers relating to my affairs with Mr. Synge *^,
sealed up in a bag as things belonging to me, put into his hands for
fear of accidents ; but to say nothing to him of my going to Dublin,
which I would have by all means kept secret from every one ; my design
being, in case I find you are absent, to make my arrival, after I am
come, known to Synge ; to look into the papers myself, and try if I can
state matters so as to bring them to a conclusion with Partinton. It
would assist me much in this affair if you would do what I have long
and often desired, viz. draw up a paper containing an account of my
demands on Partinton or others in virtue of my executorship, with the
several reasons supporting the said demands, and an account of the
proceedings thereupon at law ; what hath been done, and what remains
to be done. I hoped to have heard of the sale of the reversion by this
time. Let me hear by next post. I am yours,

G. BERKELEY.

London, July 6, 1727.

Dear Tom,

In answer to your last letter, this is to let you know, that my grant
is now got farther than where it was at the time of the King's death. I
am in hopes the broad seal will soon be affixed to it, what remains to be
done in order thereto being only matter of form; so that I propose
setting out from hence in a fortnight's time. When I set out, I shall
write at the same time to tell you of it.

I know not whether I shall stay longer than a month on that side of
the water. I am sure I shall not want the country lodging (I desired
you to procure) for a longer time. Do not therefore take it for more
than a month, if that can be done. I remember certain remote suburbs
[of Dublin] called Pimlico and Dolphin's Barn, but know not whereabout
they lie. If either of them be situate in a private pleasant place, and airy,
near the fields, I should therein like a first floor in a clean house (I desire

^ Probably the Rev. Edward Synge, successively Bishop of Cloyne, of Ferns,
Chancellor of St. Patrick's, Dublin, afterwards and of Elphin.

IV.] Letters from England. 147

no more) ; and it would be better if there was a bit of a garden where I
had the liberty to walk. This I mention in case my former desire cannot
be conveniently answered for so short a time as a month ; and, if I may
judge at this distance, these places seem as private as a house in the
country : for you must know, what I chiefly aim at is secrecy. This
makes me uneasy to find that there hath been a report spread among
some of my friends in Dublin of my designing to go over. I cannot
account for this, believing, after the precautions I had given you, that
you would not mention it directly or indirectly to any mortal. For the
present, I have no more to add, but only to repeat my request that you
will leave all papers relating to my executorship with Mr. Synge sealed
up in a bag, with directions to deliver them to my order. This I desired
you to perform in my last, in case you leave Ireland before I arrive there.
If with them you likewise leave what I formerly desired, it will save me
some trouble. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant,

r , G. BERKELEY.

July 21, 1727.

I observe you take no notice of what I said about selling the rever-
sionary lands, though you formerly encouraged me to think I should
have heard of their being sold before this time.

In case you do not make use of the power I gave you by letter of
attorney to make sale of the reversionary lands before you come for
England, I desire you would leave that said letter of attorney among the
papers with Mr. Synge.

From July 1727 till February J 728, there is a gap in the cor-
respondence as it has descended to us. It is not clear where
Berkeley was, or how he was employed, during these months.
The often postponed visit to Ireland had not yet been made;
America, where he hoped to be in April, was still in the distance.
In February 1728 he was, after all, in London, and Prior seems to
have visited him in the interval. He hoped to set out for Dublin
in March, and to begin his missionary voyage over the Atlantic in
May. These hopes were not fulfilled. The following letters
to Prior supply some curious details, especially about the proposed
visit to Dublin : —

Dear Tom,

I AGREE that M'Manus should retain for payment of the curates to
the first of May. After so many delays from Partinton, I was fully con-
vinced the only way to sell the reversionary lands must be by compelling

L 2

148 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

him to join in the sale by law, or by making a separate sale. This I
proposed to you by word of mouth, and by letter, as much as I could ;
and I now most earnestly repeat it, intreating you to do the one or the
other out of hand if it be not done already, as I have hopes it is by
what you say in your last. Dear Tom, fail me not in this particular ;
but by all means order matters so that the purchase-money may be paid
in to Swift, &c. on the first of April, or at farthest ten days after ; which
ten days I am willing to allow to M'Manus as desired. I need not
repeat to you what I told you here of the necessity there is for my
raising all the money possible against my voyage, which, God willing, I
shall begin in May, whatever you may hear suggested to the contrary ;
though you need not mention this.

1 propose to set out for Dublin about a month hence ; but of this you
must not give the least intimation to any body. I beg the favour of you
to look out at leisure a convenient lodging for me in or about Church-
street, or such other place as you shall think the most retired. Mr. Petit
Rose writes me from Portarlington about renewing his lease, which he
desires I would empower you to do. He mentions a promise I made
on the last renewal, that I would another time allow him one year gratis.
For my part, I absolutely deny that 1 know any thing of any such
promise. If you remember any thing of it, pray let me know ; for if
there was such a thing, it must have been made by you, to whom I
referred the management of that affair. As I do not design to be known
when I am in Ireland, I shall comply with his desire in sending you
a letter of attorney to perfect the renewal, agreeable to such draught as
you transmit hither ; provided still, that his proposal (which I have by
this post directed him to send to you) be approved by you ; to whom I
leave it, to do what to you shall seem fair and reasonable in that matter.
I am your affectionate humble servant,

GEOR. BERKELEY.

Lnndott. Feb. 20, 1727 — 8.

London, April d, \^ 2%.
Dear Tom,

I HAVE been detained from my journev partly in expectation of
Dr. Clayton's*^ coming, who was doing business in Lancashire, and

*^ Robert Clayton, D.D., appointed to the kind and generous character. This learned

bishopric of Killala in January, 1730, trans- and philosophic prelate, alleged author of the

lated to Cork in 1735, and to Clogher in Essay on 5/>;W/ (1750), died in 1758, on the

1745. He was living in England about this day fixed for the commencement of his trial

time, having married a cousin of Lady on a charge of heresv.
Sundon in 1728. He was celebrated for his

IV.] Letters from England. 149

partly in respect to the excessive rains. The Doctor hath been several
days in town, and we have had so much rain that probably it will be
soon over. I am therefore daily expecting to set out, all things being
provided.

Now it is of all things my earnest desire (and for very good reasons)
not to have it known that I am in Dublin. Speak not, therefore, one
syllable of it to any mortal whatsoever. When I formerly desired you
to take a place for me near the town, you gave out that you were looking
for a retired lodging for a friend of yours; upon which everybody sur-
mised me to be the person. I must beg you not to act in the like
manner now, but to take for me an entire house in your own name, and
as for yourself: for, all things considered, I am determined upon a whole
house, with no mortal in it but a maid of your own putting, who is to
look on herself as your servant. Let there be two bed-chambers, one for
you, another for me ; and, as you like, you may ever and anon lie there.
I would have the house, with necessary furniture, taken by the month
(or otherwise, as you can), for I purpose staying not beyond that time :
and yet perhaps I may. Take it as soon as possible, and never think
of saving a week's hire by leaving it to do when I am there. Dr. Clayton
thinks (and I am of the same opinion) that a convenient place may be
found in the further end of Great Britain Street, or Ballibough-bridge** —
by all means beyond Thomson's the Fellow's. Let me entreat you to say
nothing of this to anybod}', but to do the thing directly. In this affair
I consider convenience more than expense, and would of all things (cost
what it will) have a proper place in a retired situation, where I may have
access to fields and sweet air, provided against the moment I arrive. I
am inclined to think, one may be better concealed in the outermost skirt
of the suburbs than in the country, or within the town. Wherefore, if
you cannot be accommodated where I mention, inquire in some other
skirt or remote suburb. A house quite detached in the country I should
have no objection to ; provided you judge that I shall not be liable
to discovery in it. The place called Bermuda I am utterly against.
Dear Tom, do this matter cleanly and cleverly, without waiting for further
advice. You see I am willing to run the risk of the expense. To the
person from whom you hire it (whom alone I would have you speak of
it to) it will not seem strange you should at this time of the year be
desirous, for your own convenience or health, to have a place in a free
and open air. If you cannot get a house without taking it for a longer
time than a month, take it at such the shortest lime it can be let for, with
agreement for further continuing in case there be occasion.

*' In the N.E. suburbs of Dublin.

150 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Mr. Madden*^ who witnesses the letter of attorney, is now going to
Ireland. He is a clergyman, and man of estate in the north of Ireland.

I am, your affectionate humble servant,

GEORGE BERKELEY.

From April till September, Berkeley again disappears. Whether
he went to Dublin, as he had so long proposed, is doubtful. At
any rate, he did not go to America in May. In September we
find him at Gravesend, married, and about to sail for Rhode
Island, with his wife and a small party of friends.

Almost no particulars about the marriage are known. The
lady was Anne, daughter of John Forster, who had been Recorder
of Dublin, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, and also Speaker
of the Irish House of Commons ■^6. Her uncle was Nicholas
Forster, who in 1709 admitted Berkeley to holy orders, and who
was now Bishop of Raphoe'*'^. This family of Forsters had settled
in Ireland in the wars of Charles I^ when a younger son of
Sir Humphrey Forster, Bart., of Aldermaston in Berkshire, who
had gone to Ireland with Lord Conway and Sir Thomas Rawdon,
was rewarded by a grant of the estate of TuUaglian. The father
of Mrs. Berkeley is said to have been so devoted to the House of
Brunswick, that in Queen Anne's reign he was a favourite toast
at Herrenhausen j and her mother, it seems, was connected with
Monck, the famous Duke of Albemarle ''•\

The marriage, according to Stock, took place on the ist of
August 1728; where it took place I have not been able to dis-
cover. As a search in the registry at Dublin has failed to dis-
cover any record of it, the ceremony was apparently not performed
within that Province. It may have been in England, where mem-
bers of the Forster family appear sometimes to have lived.

All that one can now discover of Mrs. Berkeley makes her

*' Was this Dr. Madden afterwards one of Raphoe in 17 16, where the liberal benefac-

the founders of the Dublin Societ}', and an tions of this excellent prelate are gratefully

intimate friend of Prior's ? remembered. He died in June 1743. See

*" He seems to have been Speaker in Cotton's i^as/z, vol. HI. p. 354 ; also Mant's

1707 — 9 (see Gilbert's History of Dublin, History, vol. \\. There is a portrait of

vol. III. Appendix). He was Chief Justice him in the Library which he founded at

in 1714 — 20. Raphoe.

" Forster was appointed to the bishopric '" Preface to Monck Berkeley.
of Killala in 1714, and transferred to

v.] In England, and married. 151

worthy of her husband. She shared his fortunes when he was
about to engage in one of the most romantic moral movements
of modern times, and when, in love with an ideal academic life in
the Bermudas, he was prepared to surrender preferment and social
position at home, in order to devote the remainder of his life to
the great Continent of the West. Report bears that she was her-
self of the school of the Mystics or Quietists, and that her favourite
writers were Fenelon, Madame Guyon, and their English disciple
Hooke, the historian of Rome.

The following letter to Prior describes Berkeley and his party
on the eve of their departure from England : —

Gravesend, Sept. 5, 1728.
Dear Tom,

To-morrow, with God's blessing, I set sail for Rhode Island, with my
wife and a friend of hers, my lady Handcock's daughter, who bears us
company. I am married since I saw you to Miss Forster, daughter of
the late Chief Justice, whose humour and turn of mind pleases me
beyond any thing that I know in her whole sex. Mr. James, Mr. Dalton,
and Mr. Smibert, go with us on this voyage. We are now all together at
Gravesend, and are engaged in one view.

When my next rents are paid, I must desire you to inquire for my
cousin Richard Berkeley *^, who was bred a public notary (I suppose he
may by that time be out of his apprenticeship), and give him twenty
moidores as a present from me, towards helping him on his beginning
the world.

I believe I shall have occasion to draw for six hundred pounds
English before this year's income is paid by the farmers of my Deanery.
I must therefore desire you to speak to Messrs. Swift, &c., to give me
credit for said sum in London about three months hence, in case I have
occasion to draw for it ; and I shall willingly pay their customary interest
for the same till the farmers pay it to them, which I hope you will order
punctually to be done by the first of June. Give me advice of your
success in this affair, viz. whether they will answer such draught of mine
in London, on what interest, and on whom, and how I am to draw .''

Direct for me in Rhode Island, and inclose your letter in a cover to
Thomas Corbet, Esq., at the Admiralty office in London, who will always

*' 1 have not found anything about this ' cousin.' The request, in the circumstances,
shows Berkeley's kindness of heart.

152 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

forward my letters by the first opportunity. Adieu, I write in great
haste, yours,

G. B.

I wrote by this post to M'Manus to comply with all the points pro-
posed in Dr. Ward's memorial. , A copy of my Charter was sent to
Dr. Ward by Dr. Clayton. If it be not arrived when you go to London,'*®
write out of the Charter the clause relating to my absence. Adieu once
more.

This strange enterprise, so in contrast, like its conductor, to
the spirit of that age, was not unobserved by the journals of the
day. In the Historical Register for the year 1728''', we have another
account of the departure from Gravesend : —

Dr'. Berkeley s Desigit 0/ seitlmg a College in Bermudas.

The Reverend Dr. Berkeley, Dean of Derry, who obtained a Patent
of His late Majesty, to erect a College in Bermudas, like that in Dublin,
for instruction of youth in all manner of liberal sciences and learned arts,
sailed about the middle of September last for the West Indies, in a ship
of 250 tons, which he hired. He took several tradesmen and artists with
him. Two gentlemen of fortune (James and Dalton) are gone, with all
their effects, to settle in Bermudas. The Dean married an agreeable
young lady about six weeks before he set sail ; the lady's sister is gone
with them; they had £4000 each to their fortune, which they carried
with them. They carried also stores and goods to a great value. The
Dean embarked 20,000 (.'') books, besides what the two gentlemen carried.
They sailed hence for Rhode Island, where the Dean intends to winter,
and to purchase an estate, in order to settle a correspondence and trade
between that island and Bermudas, particularly for supplying Bermudas
with black cattle and sheep. The Dean's Grant of £2000 [£20,000.^]
on St. Christopher's is payable in two years time, ana the Dean has a
year and a half allowed him afterwards, to consider whether he will stick
to his College in Bermudas, or return to his Deanery of Derry.

None of tlie intended Fellows of the proposed College were in
the party that embarked at Gravesend. Besides the three who seem,
when he left Dublin in 1724, to have promised to join the enter-
prise, he had been looking out for other associates, finding ' many
more competitors than vacancies.'' He tried besides to persuade
Thomas Prior and Dr. Clayton, and he had negotiations with

'" Vol. XIII. p. 289.

IV.] Gravesend. 1 5 3

Dr. Blackwell ''^ of Aberdeen. But he now sailed from Gravesend
as a pioneer. Others were to follow after land had been purchased,
. and when the City and College of Bermuda^^ were in progress.
The little party who accompanied him and his wife consisted of
Miss HandcocJc, a daughter probably of Sir William Handcock,
a former Recorder of Dublin, and ancestor of the noble family of
Castlemaine; John James, an Englishman of good family, after-
wards Sir John James, of whom more hereafter ; Richard Dalton,
of Lincolnshire, the common friend of Berkeley, Benson, and
Seeker; and Smibert, an English artist, whom Berkeley met in
Italy, and whose studio, near Covent Garden, was, as we have
seen, one of his resorts in his years of waiting and working in
London.

He was in his forty-fourth year when, in deep devotion to his
Purpose, and full of glowing visions of a Fifth Empire in the West
— 'time's noblest offspring,' he sailed for Rhode Island, on his
way to Bermuda, with the promise of the Prime Minister that the
Parliamentary grant should be paid to him after he had made
an investment. He bought land in America, but he never arrived
at Bermuda.

'* Dr. Blackwell, in some observations on his peculiarities, either religious or personal ;

the union of action with speculation, adds : — but admire the extensive genius of the man,

' In this respect I would with pleasure do and think it a loss to the Western World

justice to the memory of a very great though that his noble and exalted plan of an Amer-

singular sort of man, Dr. Berkeley, known as ican University was not carried into execu-

a philosopher, and intended founder of a tion. Many such spirits in our country

University in the Bermudas, or Summer would quickly make learning wear another

Islands. An inclination to carry me out face.' (^Memoirs of the Court of Augustus,

on that expedition, as one of the young vol. II. p. 277.) Thomas Blackwell, who

professors on his new foundation, having gives this interesting testimony, was born in

brought us often together, I scarce remember Aberdeen in 1 701, and was Professor of Greek

to have conversed with him on that art, in Marischal College in 1723, and Principal

liberal or mechanic, of which he knew not in 1748. He gave an impulse to classical

more than the ordinary practitioners. With studies in the north of Scotland. Among

the widest views, he descended into a minute his pupils were Principal George Campbell

detail, and begrudged neither pains nor ex- and Dr. James Beattie.

pense for the means of information. He '^ Berkeley's skill in architecture was

travelled through a great part of Sicily on illustrated in his own elegant designs of

foot ; clambered over the mountains and the proposed City of Bermuda, the me-

crept into the caverns to investigate its tropolis of his Utopia, which were once

natural history, and discover the causes of possessed by the Rev. Dr. Raymond, Vicar

its volcanoes ; and I have known him sit for of Trim, and afterwards by his granddaughter

hours in forgeries and founderies to inspect Mrs. Ewing, widow of Mr. Thomas Ewing,

their successive operations. I enter not into a Dublin bookseller.

CHAPTER V.

A RECLUSE IN RHODE ISLAND.

1729— 1732.

On the 23rd of January, 1729, the ' hired ship of 250 tons/ in
which Berkeley and his party sailed from Gravesend, was visible
in the Narragansett waters, on the western side of Rhode Island.
It was making for the secure and beautiful harbour of Newport,
after a voyage of rather more than four months from the Thames.
The arrival of the romantic expedition, in this remote region, on
its mission of 'godlike benevolence,' was thus announced in the
New England Weekly Courier of the 3rd of February, 1729 : —

Newport, January 24, 1729.
Yesterday arrived here Dean Berkeley of Londonderry, in a pretty
large ship. He is a gentleman of middle stature, of an agreeable,
pleasant, and erect aspect. He was ushered into the town with a great
number of gentlemen, to whom he behaved himself after a very com-
plaisant manner. 'Tis said he proposes to tarry here with his family
about three months.

An event so singular as this arrival has left its mark upon the
traditions of the place. Some of them are to be found in Up-
dike's rare and curious History of the Episcopal Church in Narra-
gansett, a gossipping local history of that country, which probably
gives as exact an impression as any book of the social and eccle-
siastical atmosphere that surrounded Berkeley in his American
home.

'Dean Berkeley,' we are here told\ 'arrived in Newport by a circum-
stance purely accidental. He, with other gentlemen his associates, were
bound to the Island of Bermuda, with an intention of establishing there
a College for the education of the Indian youth of this country — a plan

' History of the Episcopal Church, &c., p. 395 ; being part of Bull's Metjioir 0/ Trinity
Church, Newport.

A Recluse in Rhode Island. 155

however which wholly failed. The captain of the ship in which he sailed
could not find the island of Bermuda, and having given up the search for
it, steered northward until they discovered land unknown to them, and
which they supposed to be inhabited by savages. On making a signal,
however, two men came on board from Block island, in the character of
pilots, who, on inquiry, informed them that the town and harbour of New-
port were near ; and that in the town there was an Episcopal Church,
the minister of which was Mr. James Honeyman. On which they pro-
ceeded to Newport, but an adverse wind caused them to run into the
west passage, where the ship came to anchor. The Dean wrote a letter
to Mr. Honeyman, which the pilots took on shore at Conanicut island,
and called on Mr. Gardner and Mr. Martin, two members of Mr. Honey-
man's church, informing them that a great dignitary of the Church of
England, called Dean, was on board the ship, together with other gentle-
men passengers. They handed them the letter from the Dean, which
Gardner and Martin brought to Newport with all possible dispatch. On
their arrival, they found Mr. Honeyman was at church, it being a holiday
on which divine service was held there. They then sent the letter by a
servant, who delivered it to Mr. Honeyman in his pulpit. He opened it
and read it to the congregation, from the contents of which it appeared
the Dean might be expected to land in Newport every moment. The
church was dismissed with the blessing, and Mr. Honeyman, with the
wardens, vestry, church, and congregation, male and female, repaired
immediately to the ferry-wharf, where they arrived a little before the
Dean, his family and friends^.'

Part of this is undoubtedly false, for it is contradicted by
- Berkeley himself, in his Gravesend letter to Prior, and also by the
Historical 'Register. There can be no doubt that it was his intention
from the first to go to Rhode Island. The idea seems to have
been to purchase land there, as an investment for Bermuda, and
perhaps also to establish friendly correspondence with influential
New Englanders. Newport was then a flourishing town, nearly a
century old, of the first importance, and an emporium of American
commerce. It was in those days the maritime and commercial
rival of New York and Boston. Narragansett Bay formed its
outer harbour j and the inner harbour, on which the town was

^ Other traditions vary a little from this. end of Rhode Island to Newport. Others
Some of them say that the ship made no say the first land made after the vessel got into
land till it arrived at the east or Sachuest the passage was Narragansett, on the Con-
river, from which it came round the north tinent opposite Newport.

156 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH.

built, was well protected from the ocean. It was a natural place
for the President of St. Paul's to choose as a basis of his opera-
tions. The residence, too, in that part of New England of some
missionaries of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, who
had been placed there a few years before, may have been another
inducement.

One lingers over the picture of the pious philanthropist, his
newly married wife, her friend, and their three companions, wend-
ing their way from the ferry-wharf of Newpoit, with their colonial
escort, on that far-off winter day, in the beginning of 1 729. This
'f gentleman of middle stature,' with his manly courtesy, found
himself at last in the crisis of an enterprise, preparation for which
had absorbed his energy for seven long years, and which aimed at
establishing the American civilization of the future on the basis
of the University and the Chuich. He was ' never more agreeably
surprised,' he says, ^ than at the sight of the town and harbour '
of Newport, where he first saw the continent that has so long filled
his imagination. Around him was some of the softest rural, and
grandest ocean scenery in the world, which had fresh charms even
for one who, educated in the vale of the Nore, was f^imiliar with
the south of England, had lingered on the bay of Naples, and
wandered in Inarime and among the mountains of Sicily.

The island in which Newport is situated is about fifteen miles
long, and from three or four in breadth. It was Berkeley's home
for nearly three years — years of waiting for the fulfilment of the
promise on the faith of which he left England. He was here
nearly seventy miles from Boston, and about an equal distance
from Newhaven and Yale College. The Indian name of the
island was Aquidneck or the Isle of Peace. The surface was undu-
lating, and there was a central ridge with pleasant meadows gently
sloping to the shore. This hill-top commanded homely farm-
houses, pastures, cornfields, orchards, and woodlands, with streams
of water making their way through deep ravines to the bay, or to
the Ocean with its lofty cliffs, a scene which might remind the
English visitor partly of the Isle of Wight and partly of Anglesea.
Orchards screened the houses from the northern blasts. The
atmosphere was delightful, with brilliant sunsets in summer and
autumn, and sea breezes from the south, tempered by the Gulph
stream, and securing perpetual verdure to the fields. Few things,

v.] A Rechise in Rhode Island. 157

visitors tell us, can be imagined more soothing and beautiful
than the rippling of the waves in the inner waters of Rhode
Island on its smooth and shelving sands, the reflection of the
verdant banks, and the glistening surface under the broad moon-
light ^ or more sublime than when in winter the deep rolling
billows from the ocean break upon its rocky shore.

The island contained about eighteen thousand inhabitants, when
Berkeley landed in 1729. Of these fifteen hundred were negroes
— freemen and slaves, for many of the Newport merchants then
engaged in the slave trade. A few native Indians, too, might
still be seen in the island, and a larger number on the opposite or
Narragansett shore. At that time Newport possessed attractions,
as a rich centre of foreign and domestic trade, different from
those of the fashionable watering-place it has now become. Its
early wealth may be explained by several causes. The salubrity
of the climate drew strangers from the Continent and from the
West Indies ; its harbour gave security, near the open ocean ;
and the spirit of religious toleration which reigned in the
Island made it then in America what Holland was in Europe
in the end of the seventeenth century.

This little State was colonized by Roger Williams in 1636.
Its society was constituted in a way unlike the surrounding com-
munities; for religious freedom was granted here while it was
unknown in every other State in America. Religionists from all
the Colonies betook themselves to this city of refuge. Jews and
Quakers, persecuted elsewhere, flourished in Newport in peace.
The island was crowded with religious refugees, who professed
often the most fantastic beliefs. An unusual independence of in-
dividual opinion prevailed, and indeed prevails there at the present
day. At the time of Berkeley's arrival, the population of Newport
was, accordingly, a motley one. The slave trade brought negroes
to the place. The white inhabitants were of many religious sects
— Quakers, Moravians, Jews, Episcopalians, Congregationalists,
Presbyterians, sixth principle and seventh principle Baptists, and
as many others besides '^ There was a large merchant population,

^ 'In one thing the different sectaries at Esq.; the men in flaming scarlet coats and
Newport, both men and women, all agreed waistcoats, laced and fringed with brightest
— in a rage for finery, to the great amuse- glaring 3'ellow. The sly Quakers, not ven-
ment of Berkeley's two learned, elegant turing on these charming coats and waist-
friends, Sir John James and Richard Daltoii. coats, yet loving finery, figured away with

158 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

and a fleet of merchant ships, some employed in the whale fishery,
and others in commerce with the West Indies.

In the interior of this verdant Island, and also on the Narra-
gansett shore, lived a pastoral population. In their snug wooden
farm-houses there was plenty and good cheer in summer and in
winter. The slaves and the Indians worked for the farmers at hay
harvest and in the sheep-fold. A landed aristocracy was inter-
spersed among the sheep and cattle farmers. The country was
remarkable in those days for its frank and generous hospitality.
Travellers were entertained as guests, and inns were rare ; New-
port contained only one or two in 1720. The society, for so
remote a region, was intelligent and well-informed. The landed
gentlemen took good care of the education of their children.
Private tutors were employed by some, and others were taken to
be educated in the houses of the missionaries. The girls were
sent to Boston for their education. The family libraries and
pictures which still remain show the taste and culture of the
gentlemen of the island and of Narragansett even in those early
times — the Updikes, Hazards % Potters, Browns, and Stantons.
Smibert, Berkeley's artist friend, soon found employment. Some
of his portraits still adorn the houses of the country.

The Rhode Island aristocracy of Berkeley's time maintained the
character of the old English country gentlemen from whom they
were descended. A state of society supported by slavery produced
festivity. Tradition records the genial life of those days in the
colony. Excursions to Hartford to luxuriate on bloated salmon
were annual indulgences in May. Pace races on the beach for
silver tankards were the social indulgences of summer. When

plate on their sideboards. One, to the no as well as Quakers were then prominent in

small diversion of Berkeley, sent to England, Newport. President Stiles, some years after

and had made on purpose, a noble large tea- this, loved to walk on the Parade there with

pot of solid gold, and inquired of the Dean, the Jewish Rabbles, learning from them the

when drinking tea with him, whether Friend mysteries of the Cabbala. See Dr. Park's

Berkeley had ever seen such a "curious Memoir of Hopldm, ^. ^^.
thing." Oil being told that silver ones were * The name of Hazard associates Rhode

much in use in England, but that he had Island with philosophy at the present day, —

never seen a gold one, Ebenezer replied : — in the person of Rowland G. Hazard, of

" Aye, that was the thing ; I was resolved to Peacedale, near Newport, whose acute trea-

have something finer than anybody else. tises on the W/ZZ (1864), and on Cai^saftow

They say that the Queen [Caroline] has not (1869), are known on both sides of the

got one." The Dean delighted his ridicu- Atlantic, and to whose kindness I am in-

lous host by assuring him that his was an debted for information about Berkeley's home

unique ; and veiy happy it made him.' in his native island.
(Preface to Moiich Berkeley, p ccccliv.) Jews

v.] A Rechise in Rhode Island. 159

autumn arrived, there were harvest-home festivities. Large
numbers of both sexes gathered on those occasions. Gentlemen
in their scarlet coats and swords, with laced ruffles over their
hands, silk stockings, and shoes ornamented with silver buckles,
and ladies dressed in brocade, with high-heeled shoes and high
head-dresses. These festivities would sometimes continue for
days, and they were shared by the slaves as well as their masters.
Christmas was the great festival of the year : twelve days were
then given to hospitalities. The wedding, too, was a great
gala in the olden time. And the fox chase, with hounds and
horns, as well as fishing and fowling, were favourite sports in
Narragansett ^\

Berkeley and his wife seem to have lived in the town of Newport
for the first five or six months after their arrival. Mr, Honeyman,
the missionary of the English Society, had been placed there,
in Trinity Church, in 1704. This was the earliest episcopal
mission in that part of America. The church, which was finished
a few years before Berkeley's arrival, is still a conspicuous object
from Newport harbour. He preached in it three days after his
arrival, and often afterwards during his stay in the island ". We
have a slight picture of him as he appeared in Trinity Church,
given by Colonel Updike-'s'^ son Ludowick, who used to say that
when a boy his father often took him to hear Berkeley preach.
Like all really learned men, he was tolerant in religious opinion,
which gave him a great and deserved popularity with all de-

' It may be interesting to record the and discord engendered by the Revolution

names of some of the old families who were broke up and destroyed their previously

living this pleasant rural life when Berkeley existing intercourse, and harmonious rela-

was in Rhode Island. ' Among them,' says tions were never restored. By that event

Updike, 'were Dr. Badcock, Colonel Stanton, we became another and a new people.'

Colonel Champlin, the two Gov. Hazards, (p. 187.)

Gov. Robinson, Col. Potter, Judge Potter, '^ The BerMey Papers contain skeleton
the Gardniers, Col. Willet, Elisha Cole, John notes of sermons preached in Trinity Church,
and Edward Cole, Judge Holme, Col. Up- Newport, and in the Narragansett country,
dike, Matthew Robinson, Col. Brown, Dr. printed in another part of this volume.
M'Sparran, and Dr. Fayerweather. They They were for the most part preached in
received frequent visits from others in 1729, one or two in 1730.
Boston. These constituted a bright, intel- ' Colonel Upside was Attorney-General
lectual, and fascinating society. Great of the Colony for twenty-four years. He
sociality and interchange of visits prevailed was an intimate friend of Berkeley, who
among them, and strangers were welcome, presented to him, on his departure from
and treated with old-fasliioned urbanity and Rhode Island, a silver coffee-pot, which re-
hospitality ; but the political acrimony, strife, mains as an heirloom in the Updike family.

i6o Life and Letters of Berkeley. [en.

nominations. All sects, it seems, rushed to hear him ^ even the
Quakers with their broad-brimmed hats came and stood in the
aisles. Updike reports that Berkeley in one of his sermons very
emphatically said— 'Give the devil his due, John Calvin was
a great man ^.'

Three months after his arrival at Newport, Berkeley describes
his new experience in the following letter to Prior : —

Newport, in Rhode Island,
April 24, 1729.
Dear Tom,

I CAN by this time say something to you, from my own experience, of
this place and people.

The inhabitants are of a mixed kind, consisting of many sorts and sub-
divisions of sects. Here are four sorts of Anabaptists, besides Presby-
terians, Quakers, Independents, and many of no profession at all.
Notwithstanding so many differences, here are fewer quarrels about
religion than elsewhere, the people living peaceably with their neighbours,
of whatever profession. They all agree in one point, that the Church of
England is the second best. The climate is like that of Italy, and not at all
colder in the winter than I have known it every where north of Rome.
The spring is late ; but, to make amends, they assure me the autumns
are the finest and longest in the world, and the summers are much
pleasanter than those of Italy by all accounts, forasmuch as the grass con-
tinues green, which it doth not there. This island is pleasantly laid out
in hills and vales and rising grounds ; hath plenty of excellent springs
and fine rivulets, and many delightful landscapes of rocks and promon-
tories and adjacent islands. The provisions are very good ; so are the
fruits, which are quite neglected, tho' vines sprout up of themselves to an
extraordinary size, and seem as natural to this soil as to any I ever saw.
The town of Newport contains about six thousand souls, and is the most
thriving flourishing place in all America for its bigness. It is very pretty
and pleasantly situated. I was never more agreeably surprised than at
the sight of the town and its harbour, I could give you some hints that
may be of use to you if you were disposed to take advice ; but of all men
in the world, I never found encouragement to give you any.

By this opportunity I have drawn on Messrs. Wogan and Aspinwall
for ninety-seven pounds, and shall soon draw for about five hundred
pounds more. I depend on your taking care that my bills be duly

* Metnoirs of the Rhode Island Bar. p. ^^.

v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. i6i

paid. I hope you have well concerted that matter with Swift and Com-
pany, as I desired you. My draughts shall always be within my income ;
and if at any time they should be made before payment thereof into their
hands, I will pay interest. I doubt not you keep my farmers punctual.

I have heard nothing from you or any of my friends in England or
Ireland, which makes me suspect my letters were in one of the vessels
that wreck'd. I write in great haste, and have no time to say a word to
my brother Robin. Let him know we are in good health. Once more
take care that my draughts are duly honoured (which is of the greatest
importance to my credit here) ; and if I can serve you in these parts, you
may command your affectionate humble servant,

GEOR. BERKELEY.

Send the date of my accounts and affairs, directed and enclosed to
Thomas Corbet, Esq., at the Admiralty Office in London. Direct all
your letters the same way. I long to hear from you.

In the spring of 1729, accompanied by his friends Smibert and
Colonel Updike, he visited th? Rev. James M'Sparran '^, the mis-
sionary minister of St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Narragansett,
whose America 'Dissected bears traces of an acute and vigorous
mind. Smibert's portraits of the good missionary and his wife
remain as memorials of this visit. It gave Berkeley an oppor-
tunity of visiting the Indians in their huts and encampments.
At least one of his manuscript sermons is marked as having
been ' preached in the Narragansett country,' We learn, on
Mrs. Berkeley's authority, that ' when the season and his health
permitted, he visited the Continent [of America], not only in its
outward skirts, but penetrated far into its recesses. The same
generous desire of advancing the best interests of mankind which

^ I quote the following from Duyckinck's lady of the place. He was intimate with

Cyclop:vdia of American Literahire : — ' The Berkeley during the residence of the Dean

Rev. James M'Sparran of St. Paul's Church, at Newport. In 17,^6, he visited England,

Narragansett, wis one of the pioneer band and returned with the title of Doctor of

of English clergymen whose influence is Divinity from Glasgow In 1752, he

often to be noticed in cementing the founda- wrote an historical tract of merit — America

tions of American progress. His family was Dissected, which was printed at Dublin in

from the north of Ireland, having emigrated 175.^ It was his intention to publish

from Scotland. He had a good classical an extended history of the Colonies, espe-

education, and came a missionary to Narra- cially of New England He died at

gansett, in the State of Rhode Island, from his house, in South Kingstown, December I,

the Society for the Propagation of the 1757, having sustained manfully a career of

Gospel in Foreign Parts, in 1721. The next many difficulties.' (pp. 143 — 44.)
year he married Miss Harriet Gardner, a

VOL. IV. M

1 62 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

induced him to cross the Atlantic did uniformly actuate him
whilst America was the scene of his ministry.' ' Dean Berkeley/
says Updike, ' repeatedly visited Narragansett, accompanied by
Smibert, Col. Updike, and Dr. M'Sparran, to examnne into the
condition and character of the Narragansett Indians^".'

It is not to be supposed, however, that Berkeley travelled
extensively in America. His knowledge of that country from
personal observation was limited to a narrow region. We find
no traces of him. to the south or west of Rhode Island, in the
direction of Newhaven and Stratford, or on the Connecticut river.
And we have the almost contemporaneous testimony of the Rev.
Noah Hobart. ' Tis true," this gentleman says ^^, ' that Berkeley
resided in Rhode Island for some time, but whether he was per-
sonally acquainted with any number of our most eminent ministers
I confess I do not know. In the general, it is well enough known
that this * great and good man,' as Mr. Beech very justly styles him,
partly through indisposition, and partly through a close application
to his beloved studies, lived a very retired life while in this
country. He saw very little of New England, was hardly ever off
Rhode Island, never in Connecticut, nor in Boston till he went
there to take his passage to London.'

The following letter to Prior was written while Berkeley was
living in the town of Newport : —

Newport iti Rhode Island,
June 12, 1729.

Dear Tom,

Being informed that an inhabitant of this country is on the point of
going for Ireland, I would not omit writing to you, and acquainting you
that I received two of yours, dated September 23 and December 21,
wherein you repeat w-hat you formerly told me about Finney's legacy.
The case of Marshall's death I had not before considered. I leave it to
you to act in this matter for me as you would for yourself if it was your
own case. I depend on your diligence about finishing what remains to
be done, and your punctuality in seeing my money duly paid in to Swift
and Company, and sending me accounts thereof.

If you have any service to be done in these parts, or if you would

1 See Biog. Brit. vol. III.—' Addenda ;' i' Second Address to the Members of the

and Updike, pp. 176, 523. Episcopal Separation, Boston, 1751.

v.] A Rechise in Rhode Island. 163

know any particulars, you need only send me the questions, and direct
me how I may be serviceable to you. The winter, it must be allowed,
was much sharper than the usual winters in Ireland, but not at all
sharper than I have known them in Italy. To make amends, the sum-
mer is exceedingly delightful ; and if the spring begins late, the autumn
ends proportionably later than with you, and is said to be the finest in
the world.

I snatch this moment to write ; and have time only to add, that I have
got a son, who, I thank God, is likely to live. My wife joins with
me in her service to you. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble
servant,

G. BERKELEY.

I find it hath been reported in Ireland that we propose setding here.
I must desire you to discountenance any such report. The truth is, if
the King's bounty were paid in, and the charter could be removed hither,
I should like it better than Bermuda : but if this were mentioned before
the payment of said money, it may perhaps hinder it, and defeat all our
designs.

As to what you say of Hamilton's ^^ proposal, I can only answer at
present by a question, viz. Whether it be possible for me, in my absence,
to be put in possession of the Deanery of Dromore.? Desire him to
make that point clear, and you shall hear farther from me.

This letter announces the birth of Berkeley's first child. The

records of Trinity Church, Nevi'pjrt, contain the following rather

curious relative information: — '1729, September 1. Henry Berke-

. ley, son of Dean Berkeley, baptised by his father^ and received into

the Church.'

In the following extract from a letter written by Dr. Zachary
Grey to Dr. Timothy Culter, formerly of Yale College, and now of
Boston, we have a reference to Berkeley ^-^i —

Boston, New E^iglajid,
July 18, 1729.

Dean Berkeley is at Rhode Island, honoured by the whole

Church, and dissenters of all denominations. He will pass the next

''^ Probably John Hamilton, Dean of Houghton Conquest in Bedfordshire. He

Droniore. This adds to the difficulty about corresponded for many 3'ears with Dr. Cutler

that deanery. at Boston. See Nichols's Lit. Anec. vol. II.

*^ Nichols's Illustrations of Literature, p. 546.
vol. IV. p. 289. Dr. Grey was rector of

M 2

164 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH.

winter there ; and we promise ourselves he will use his interest to place
his College in these parts, and this will be some compensation for the
loss the Church has sustained as to Harvard College.

We have other glimpses of Berkeley this summer. ' Elder '
Corner, who at that time preached to a congregation of Baptists
at Newport, left some manuscript diaries, which are preserved in
the archives of the Rhode Island Historical Society, at Providence.
In these, the following entry occurs: — ' 1729, July 14. This day
Mr. John Adams and I waited on Dean George Berkeley at his
house. Kindly treated.' The following memorandum of the
worthy ' Elder' is curious : — ' From July 28 to August 7, 1 729, the
heat was so intense as to cause the death of many. Through the
first nights in August, the lightnings were constant and amazing.'

It was probably in this July or August of 1729, that Berkeley,
with his wife and child, removed from Newport to the pleasant
valley in the interior of the island, where he had bought a farm
and built a house. His three friends, James, Dalton, and Smibert,
soon afterwards went to live in Boston.

Berkeley's farm was a tract of land of about ninety-six acres.
He bought it from Captain John Anthony, a native of Wales,
then a wealthy grazier in Rhode Island, whose daughter afterwards
married Gilbert Stuart, father of the American artist ^^. It adjoined
a farm which belonged to the missionary Honeyman, from whom
Honeyman's Hill in the neighbourhood takes its name. In this
sequestered spot Berkeley planned and built a commodious house.
He named his island home Whitehall, in loyal remembrance of
the Palace of the English kings from Henry VIII to James II.
It was in the farm-house of Whitehall that, at the age of forty-four,
he began domestic life, the father of a family. Till the autumn
of 1729, he had lived in Trinity College, Dublin, in hired apart-
ments in London, or in France and Italy — not at aU, as it seems,
domesticated at Dromore or Derry. He had now more oppor-
tunity for meditative reading than almost since he left Dublin in
1 713, and he had one to share his life whose sympathy was with
Fenelon and mystic Quietism.

" See Updike, p. 254. I have not been tions of the Hon. J. R. Bartlett, of Provi-
able to get a copy of the original deed of dence. The Records at Newport were lost
purchase, notwithstanding the kind exer- or injured in the revolutionary war.

v.]

A Recluse in Rhode Island.

165

The house at Whitehall may still be seen, in its green valley,
near a hill which commands a wide view of land and ocean
and neighbouring islands. When asked why he built it in the
valley, when he might have gratified his love of nature more if it
had been placed on the high ground, Berkeley is said to have
answered, with philosophic appreciation — ' To enjoy what is to
be seen from the hill, I must visit it only occasionally; if the
prospect were constantly in view it would lose its charm.' The
house stands a little off the road that runs eastward from New-
port, about three miles from the town. The engraving here
given is from drawings taken on the spot ^-5.

WHITEHALL, BERKELEY'S RESIDENCE IN RHODE ISLAND.

1' In a book entitled Travels through the
Middle Settlements in North America in the
years 1 759 and 1760, by Andrew Burnaby,
M.A., Vicar of Greenwich, we have some
account of Whitehall nearly thirty years
after Berkeley left it. The following extract
is interesting : —

' At Newport, about three miles from
town, is an indifferent wooden house, built
by Dean Berkeley, when he was in these
parts. The situation is low, but commands
a fine view of the ocean, and of some wild
rugged rocks that are on the left hand of it.
They relate here several strange stories of
the Dean, which, as they are characteristic
of that extraordinary man, deserve to be
taken notice of. One, in particular, I must

beg the reader's indulgence to allow me
to repeat to him. The Dean had formed
the plan of building a town upon the
rocks which I have just now taken notice
of, and of cutting a road through a sandy
beach which lies a little below them, in
order that ships might come up and be
sheltered in bad weather. He was so full
of this project as one day to say to one
Smibert, a designer, whom he had brought
over with him from Europe, on the latter's
asking some ludicrous question concerning
the future importance of the place — " Truly
you have very little foresight ; for, in fifty
years time, every foot of land in this place
will be as valuable as the land in Cheapside."
The Dean's house, notwithstanding his pre-

i66

Life and Letters of Berkeley,

[CH.

No spot in that island can be dearer to the thinker or the
philanthropist than the quiet vale in which Berkeley lived and
studied for more than two years. The changes of a century and a
half have left the place nearly as it was, though the house now
bears marks of decay. It is built ot wood. It has an architectural
character of its own, different from the other farm-houses in the
neighbourhood. Within, the ceilings are low, the cornices deep,
and the fireplaces ornamented with quaint tiles. The house looks
to the south. The south-west room was probably the library. The
old orchard has mostly perished ; here and there aged apple-trees
stand, whose gnarled trunks have resisted the winter storm. A
few old cedars are near. The well from which Berkeley drank
may be seen, with its old-fashioned apparatus for drawing water.
Sheep and cattle still feed in the sunny pastures, and the sur-
rounding meadows and corn-fields are well cultivated. A rivulet
runs through a small ravine near the house. The ocean may be
seen in the distance — while the groves and wild rocks off^er the

diction, is at present nothing better than a
farm-house, and his library is converted into
the dairy.'

A reviewer in the Gentleman's Magazine
(vol. XLV. p. 13.:;), who seems to be well
informed, observes as follows upon this
passage : —

' Several mistakes in this strange story we
have a particular pleasure in being able to
correct, in justice to a man who, though
extraordinary, was also excellent, and whose
zeal, however unsuccessful, in the best of
causes, entitles him to much better epithets
than wild and chimerical. Far from pro-
jecting a town, &c., the building, and the
only building, which Dean Berkeley had
planned, was a tea-room and a kitchen, not
even a bed-chamber. For what he said
to his designer (or rather painter), Smibert,
a painter without imagination, as to the
probable value of that ground, there is not
the least foundation. Possibly the proprietor
of it might conceive that there was some
latent scheme in contemplation which might
eventually increase the value ; and certain it
is that, influenced by this notion, he de-
manded a greater price than the Dean
chose to give, and therefore declined the

purchase Had Mr. Burnaby been so

disposed, Rhode Island would have furnished
him with some traits of Dean Berkeley as
a philanthropist more pleasing and more
true.'

Lord and Lady Amberley visited White-
hall in September, 1867— more than a
century after Mr. Burnaby. I extract the
following sentences from a letter giving an
account of the visit, with which I was
favoured by Lady Amberley : —

' The house is built of wood, as they all
are in this part of the country— white
horizontal planks. Berkeley's parlour was
a good sized square room, with four win-
dows, and a large fireplace, with pretty, old-
fashioned, painted tiles. His bedroom was
above — a narrow massive staircase, with
wooden bannisters, leading to it. There is
an old orchard in front of the house, with
pear-trees in it that were there in Berke!e3''s
time. An old vine creeps over the house.
.... A simple-minded woman, named
Brown, who inhabits it, was surprised at our

interest in every corner of the place

From the house we went to what is called
the Second Beach, nearly a mile off, Berke-
ley's chief resort, and where the rocks are
known by the name of Paradise. The
beach is sandy. The rocks stand back a
little way from it. One gets to the foot of
them across a brook, and through long
tangled grass, full of beautifully coloured
wild flowers. The alcove is a lonely spot,
open only to the south, with a grand view
of the ocean, and quite protected from rain
and sun, and from all intruders — a capital
study for any recluse.'

v.]

A Rechtse i7i Rhode Island,

167

same shade, and silence, and solitude which soothed Berkeley in
his recluse life. No solicitations of his friends in Boston could
withdraw him from the quiet of this retreat, where he diverted his
anxieties about Bermuda and the expected endowment by the
ingenious and beautiful thoughts which are blended with subtle
feeling and gleams of humour in the dialogues of Aldphron^ pub-
lished after his return to England. This most popular of all his
writings was the result of reading and meditation in Rhode
Island. None of his previous works *show so much learned re-
search. We may infer from its pages that Berkeley must have
had a considerable library within his reach at Whitehall.

Alclphron is redolent of the fragrance of rural nature in Rhode
Island, and of the invigorating breezes of its ocean shore.

BERKELEY'S ALCOVE, RHODE ISLAND.

Smith of Philadelphia, in his preface to the London edition of
Johnson of Stratford's philosophical works, says that one day when
visiting him Johnson took up the book, and reading some of
Berkeley's rural descriptions, told him that they were copied
from the charming landscapes in that delightful island, which

1 68 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

lay before him at the time he was writing. The tradition is
that much of Aldphron was studied in the open air at a favourite
retreat below a projecting rock, commanding a view of the beach
and the ocean, with some shady elms not far off. The spot is
still shown to visitors, and the chair in which Berkeley was ac-
customed to sit in this natural alcove in the Hanging Rocks is
still preserved with veneration ^*^.

We have pictures of Rhode Island in the book. The following pas-
sage, for instance, describes the scenery round Whitehall ": — 'After
dinner we took our walk to Crito's, which lay through half a dozen
pleasant fields, planted round with plane-trees, that are very com-
mon in this part of the country. We walked under the delicious
shade of these trees for about an hour before we came to Crito's
house, which stands in the middle of a small park^ beautified with
two fine groves of oak and walnut, and a winding stream of sweet
and clear water.' Here is a picture of the Second Beach and the
Hanging Rocks ^^i — 'Next morning Alciphron and Lysides said
the weather was so fine they had a mind to spend the day abroad,
and take a cold dinner under a shade in some pleasant part ot
the country. Whereupon, after breakfast, we went down to a
beach about half a mile off-], where we walked on the smooth sand,
with the ocean on the one hand, and on the other wild, broken
rocks, intermixed with shady trees and springs of water, till the sun
began to be uneasy. We then withdrew into a hollow glade between
two rocks, where we seated ourselves.' The conversation in the fifth
Dialogue is introduced by a picture of the town of Newport and
Narragansett Bay as seen from Honey man's Hill : — ' We amused
ourselves next day, every one to his fancy, till nine of the clock,
when word was brought that the tea-table was set in the library,
which is a gallery on a ground floor, with an arched door at one end
opening into a walk of limes, where, as soon as we had drank tea,
we were tempted by fine weather to take a walk which led to a
small mount of easy ascent, on the top whereof we found a seat under
a spreading tree. Here we had a prospect, on the one hand of a

1^ Dr. Coit in a letter says,- — ' Through An engraving of the chair is given by

my grandfather, the chair in which Dean Updike, p. },o(i. It was here, according to

Berkeley used to sit at Newport has de- Updike, that he wrote his celebrated verses

scended to me, and is still in good preserva- — so oracular as to the future destiny of

tion. It is the one in which he is believed America. Cf. note 15.
to have composed his Minute Philosopher.^ " Dial. I. sect. I. "" Dial. II. sect. I.

v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. 169

narrow bay or creek of the sea, enclosed on either side by coast
beautified with rocks and woods, and green banks and farm-houses.
At the end of the bay was a small town, placed upon the slope of
a hill, which, from the advantage of its situation^ made a consider-
able figure. Several fishing-boats and lighters gliding up and
down, on a surface as smooth and as bright as glass, enlivened
the prospect. On the other side, we looked down on green
pastures, flocks and herds basking beneath in sunshine, while we,
in our situation, enjoyed the freshness of air and shade. Here we
felt the sort of joyful instinct which a rural scene and fine weather
inspire; and proposed no small pleasure in resuming and con-
tinuing our conference till dinner.' The spirited picture of a fox
chase, which follows, represents what might be seen not in Eng-
land only, but also in the Narragansett country.

Though Berkeley loved chiefly domestic quiet at Whitehall, and
the 'still air of delightful studies,' he mixed occasionally in the
society of Newport, with its clergymen, lawyers, and physicians,
and its enterprising and liberal merchants. Some of them had
been trained in European universities, and were attracted to the
colony by its prosperity. Soon after he settled at Whitehall, he
took an active share in forming a philosophical Society in New-
port, where he found persons not unqualified to consider ques-
tions v/hich had long occupied his thoughts, and who could
see that his philosophical system implied no distrust of the
senses, nor disregard of reason in the conduct of life. Among
the members were Col. Updike, Judge Scott (a granduncle of Sir
Walter Scott), Nathaniel Kay, Henry Collins, Nathan Townsend,
the Rev. James Honeyman, and the Rev. Jeremiah Condy. John--
son of Stratford and M'Sparran of Narragansett were occasional
members. The Society seems to have been very successful. One
of its objects was to collect books. It originated, in 1747, the
Redwood Library, one of the most useful institutions in Newport
at the present day^^.

Berkeley's house at Whitehall was a place of meeting for the
missionaries of the surrounding country. ' The missionaries

'^ Berkeley corresponded in French with lived at Providence. (Updike, pp. 41-59.)
Galiriel Bernon, an aged Huguenot refugee, The letters I have not been able to re-
who emigrated to America in 169S, and cover.

I 70 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

from the English Society, who resided within a hundred miles
of Newport/ according to the affectionate testimony of Mrs.
Berkeley '^", ' agreed among themselves to hold a sort of Synod
there, twice in a year, in order to enjoy the advantages of his
advice and exhortation. Four of these meetings were accordingly
held. One of the principal points which he then pressed upon
his fellow-labourers was the absolute necessity of conciliating by
all innocent means the affection of their hearers, and also of their
dissenting neighbours. His own example indeed very eminently
enforced his precepts; for it is hardly possible to conceive a con-
duct more uniformly kind, tender, beneficial, and liberal than his
was. He seemed to have only one wish in his heart — that was
to alleviate misery, and diffuse happiness.'

In the delightful seclusion of this studious life, the recluse in
Rhode Island was not forgotten by his friends in England. He
continued to correspond with Prior at Dublin, and also with friends
about Court in London, praying for a settlement of the Bermuda
claims. The following letter from Dr. Benson '•^^ may have reached
Whitehall in the autumn of 1729, and now throws some light
upon Berkeley : —

Dear Mr. Dean,

It was great joy to me to hear from your own hand, what I had before
heard from others, that you were safely arriv'd in Rhode Island, and that
Rhode Island is so agreeable to you ; and I am the more pleas'd it is, as
I find so litde likelihood of the £20,000 being paid in order to remove
you to Bermuda. I know how much it is your desire to be doing a great
deal of good wherever you are, and I hope it is in your power to do it in
some other place, if they will not permitt you to do it where you at first
proposed. [I said] to Ld. Pembroke as a thought of my own whe[ther]
they would give some part of the money if they f^could not be] persuaded
to pay in the whole. This he said it [would be danjgerous to propose,
because the offering to accept [a part] might be interpreted by them the
giving up a right [to the whole], and that such an offer should come
from them and not from [your] Agents. The old Earl has been enquiring
and rum[inating?] much about these affairs, but with what intention, [or
with] any or not I do not know. This I know, that if you do not take

•" Biog. Brit. vol. III. — ' Addenda.' Durham, and one of the king's chaplains.

^* Ber]<eley Papers. Benson was at this Seeker had married his sister,
time archdeacon of Berks, prebendary of

v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. i 7 1

care to return an answer to the Query I sent you enclosed in my former
letter to you (which I hope came safe to your hands), you will be as
much out of the good graces of the Earl as you are in them now. I have
not been wanting to say everything wh. I thought might be proper in
order to promote, and to be silent about everything which I feared might
prejudice your good designs. As the Master of the Rolls ^^ seems very
well affected towards you, I have [talked] a good deal with him, but as
he told me the affair of [Rhode Is] land would be brought before the
Parliament, I have [been very] cautious since in dropping anything of
any . . . settling within yt. Government. So great is the [prejudice of.-']
some men, that a certain wise gentleman told [me he was] persuaded
that you acted in concert with the [men of] New England, and was
fomenting the opposition [there] to settling a salary on the Governour.
And so [ ] interestedness of others, that the good example they hear

your Lady is setting of beginning a manufacture which herself will wear,
they look upon as a dangerous precedent, and what may prove in time
prejudicial to the manufactures of England. Thus you see your company
and your designs are not inconsiderable in the eyes of the world. I
acquainted you in my other letter that there is a likelihood of Dr. Clayton's
being made a Bp. in Ireland , and by this means of that being realy
compass'd by his mea[ns] which you projected in relation to another
person. The [Clerk.?] of the Council, to shew you that the highest
honours cannot secure men from sickness and human infirmities, [is] so
mortified by a very severe fit of Rheumatism, and he is so much humbled
that he ac[tually was] sworn in my OfBcial of the Archdeaconry of Berks.
[I have no] private news to write you, and I wish I could send any publick
that is good, but those wise heads which [might be our de] fence against
evils which might arise from your going to Bermuda Jiave not been
[aware of those .?] which were before their eyes, and which we are now so
[much in danjger of feeling that war is ready everywhere.

I am going to Durham in a few days, and propose to [stay there]
some months. My Brother Seeker, Dr. Rundle '^ &c. are there. I [am]
much delighted to hear of your health. I am desir'd from Ld. Pomfret,
the Bp. of Durham ^', and many other places and persons, to make their
compliments to you, and I desire you to make mine to James, Dicky -'^,
and Smibert, and to the ladies too, for I look [on them as] my acquaint-
ance. As Dicky is my vassal, my r[egal privileges] will extend to all his

^'•^ Sir Joseph Jekyll, to whom Butler's ^' Dr. Rundle was then a prebendary at

Sermons are dedicated. He was Master of Durham,
the Rolls 1717— 1738. 2' Bishop Talbot.

2' Richard Dallon.

172 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

possessions however far he flies from me, and therefore [I consider
myself] a party concerned in the title he is making out to his new
purchase.

Dear Mr. Dean, I have nothing more to add at present, than
wishing health to yourselves and prosperity to all your designs. You
need, you can say nothing more to recommend Rhode Island and
make me wish myself there, than that you are there and the good
company with you.

I am. Dear Mr. Dean,
With the greatest esteem and truest affection.

Your most sincere and faithful friend and servant,

M. B.
London, June 23, 1729.

Sir John -" has a project for propagating a race of blacks in Europe,
which I suppose he has communicated to you.

And here is a letter from Berkeley to Prior, which contains a
pleasant family picture : —

Rhode Island, March 9, 1730.
Dear Tom,

My situation hath been so uncertain, and is like to continue so till I
am clear about the receipt of his Majesty's bounty, and, in consequence
thereof, of the determination of my associates, that you are not to wonder
at my having given no categorical answer to the proposal you made in
relation to Hamilton's Deanery, which his death hath put an end to^''.
If I had returned, I should perhaps have been under some temptation to
have changed ; but as my design still continues to wait the event, and go
to Bermuda as soon as I can get associates and money (which my friends
are now soHciting in London), I shall in such case persist in my first
resolution of not holding any Deanery beyond the limited time.

I long to hear what success you have had in the law-suit. Your
account of the income of the Deanery last paid in is come to my hands.
I remember that one of Mrs. Van Homrigh's creditors (I think a stay-
maker) was in France, and so missed of payment. I should be glad you
could find some way of paying him, and any others if you find anything

^•^ Sir John Rawdon (?). died in 1729. See Cotton's Fasti, vol. III.

^^ John Hamikon. Dean of Dromore, p. 293. Cf. note, p. 163.

] A Recluse in Rhode Island. 173

still due, even during the minorities of the young ladies, if in books of
account charged to their credit. I suppose Mr. Marshall will agree to
this ; but whether he doth or no, I think it should be done. I do there-
fore leave that matter to be fully accomplished by you as you can find
opportunity, as perhaps some affair might call you to London, or you may
have some friend there : for, in the hurry of things, I should be sorry to
have overlooked any, or that any should suffer who should make out
their pretensions since. I now call to mind that for this reason I with-
held that forty pounds which was paid Mr. Marshall when I was in
Dublin ; but this was then out of my thoughts, or I should not have
ordered the payment thereof. I agree to what you propose about paying
Finey's son, since it is agreeable to Mr. Marshall.

I live here upon land that I have purchased, and in a farm-house that
I have built in this island. It is fit for cows and sheep, and may be of
good use for supplying our College at Bermuda.

Among my delays and disappointments, I thank God I have two
domestic comforts that are very agreeable, my wife and my little son ;
both which exceed my expectations, and fully answer all my wishes. My
wife gives her service to you ; and, at her request, I must desire you to
pay, on my account, two guineas yearly to her brother's wife^^ towards
the support of a young girl, child of my wife's nurse. The girl's name
is Betty Smith. Mrs. Forster lives in Henry-street. As this is a piece
of charity, I am sure you will not neglect it.

I must also desire that out of the next payment made by M'Manus,
you give one hundred pounds to brother Robin, to be disposed of by him
as I have directed, in pursuance of a letter I had from him ; and that the
rest be paid in to Swift and Company.

■ Mr. James, Dalton, and Smibert, &c., are at Boston, and have been
there for several months. My wife and I abide by Rhode Island, pre-
ferring quiet and solitude to the noise of a great town, notwithstanding
all the solicitations that have been used to draw us thither. No more at
present but that I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant,

GEOR. BERKELEY.

As to what you ask about my companions, they are all at Boston, and
have been there these four months, preferring that noisy town to this
peaceful retreat which my wife and I enjoy in Rhode Island. Being in
a hurry, I have writ the same thing twice.

I have desired M'Manus, in a letter to Dr. Ward, to allow twenty

'^ Mrs. Berkeley's brother George married a daughter of Sir Abraham Elton, Bart,

I 74 Zzy^ and Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

pounds per annum for me, towards the poor-house now on foot for
clergymen's widows, in the diocese of Derry.

Soon after his arrival at Newport, Berkeley was visited by the
Reverend Samuel Johnson, the episcopal missionary at Stratford,
one of the most learned scholars and acute thinkers of his time in
America 2^ His name must always be associated with Berkeley's.

Mr. Johnson was then about thirty years of age. He was born
at Guildford in Connecticut. His father and grandfather were
deacons in the Congregational Church of that town, Congrega-
tionalism being the form of ecclesiastical polity established in
the New England colonies. He graduated at Yale College in
1714, and was a tutor there from 1716 till 1719. He also
officiated as pastor at Westhaven. By reading the works of
eminent Anglican divines, and after many conferences among
themselves. Cutler, then Rector of Yale College, Johnson, and-
some other ministers, were led, about 1722, to doubt the validity of
Presbyterian ordination, and the expediency of extempore common-
prayer. They soon announced their new convictions, and cast in
their lot with the Church of Hooker, Cudworth, and Barrow. The
Church of England had at that time hardly any existence in Con-
necticut. Cutler, Johnson, and Brown now resigned their offices
in the College, and their pastoral charges in the neighbourhood, in
order to connect themselves with its communion. In 1722, they
crossed the ocean, to obtain episcopal ordination in England. They
were welcomed by the ecclesiastical dignitaries and at the two
Universities. Johnson is said to have visited Pope at his villa, who
gave him cuttings from his Twickenham willow. These he carried
from the banks of the Thames, and planted on the wilder banks
of his own beautiful river at Stratford in Connecticut, when
he was settled there in November 172?.

The Principles of Human Knoivledge had early fallen into
Johnson's hands, and he had in consequence formed a high notion
of Berkeley's philosophical genius and aims. He hastened to
wait upon him as soon as he heard of his arrival in Rhode Island.
A correspondence and a succession of visits followed. It does not

2^ See Dr. Chandler's Life of Samuel memoir, by Dr. Beardsley of Newhaven,
Johnson, D.D., published in America early may be looked for.
in the present century. A more satisfactory

A Rechtse in Rhode Island.

175

appear that Berkeley ever went to Stratford, but Johnson more than
once visited Whitehall, and had philosophical and theological diffi-
culties removed by a more original and experienced mind. He was
a convert to the New Principle, which he regarded, when rightly
understood, as the true philosophical support of faith. The denial
of the absolute existence of Matter, a whimsical paradox to the
superficial thinker, he found to mean nothing more than a denial
of an inconceivable substratum of sensible phenomena. The affir-
mation of the merely relative existence of sensible things was to
him the affirmation of orderly combinations of sensible pheno-
mena, in which our corporeal pains and pleasures were determined
by Divine Ideas that are the archetypes of physical existence.
This conception of the universe, habitually kept before him, seemed
to Johnson more apt than any other system to harmonize with our
individual dependence on the Supreme Mind or Will, perpetually
present and perpetually active. In his own works he adopted and
applied this philosophy, with a force and clearness which entitle
him to an eminent place among the thinkers of America ^o.

s** More than twenty years after this, in
1752, a volume entitled Elementa Philo-
sophica, written by Johnson, was printed
by Benjamin Franklin, at Philadelphia^ It
consists of two treatises — Noetica, or Things
relating to the Mind or Understanding;
and Ethica, or Things relati?ig to the Moral
Behaviour. The volume is dedicated to
Berkeley. It is extremely rare, unknown
in this country, and hardly to be found
in America : I am indebted for the use
of a copy to the kindness of Mr. Sibley,
the librarian of Harvard College. I
make no apology for giving the follow-
ing extracts from the Noetica, illustrative
of Johnson's intellectual relations to Ber-
keley : —

'The word Mind or Spirit signifies any
intelligent active being; which notion we
take from what we are conscious of in our-
selves. . . . And by reasoning and analogy
from ourselves, we apply it to all other minds
or intelligences besides or superior to us ;
and (removing all limitations and imper-
fections) we apply it even to that Great
Supreme Intelligence, who is the universal
Parent of all created spirits, and (so far as
our words or conceptions can go) may be
defined, an Infinite Mind or Spirit.' (p. 2.)
' The immediate object of our perceptions and
actions we cM ideas ; as this word has been

commonly used by the moderns, with whom
it signifies any immediate object of the mind
in thinking, whether sensible or intellectual,
and so is in effect synonymous with the word
thought, which cotnprehends both. Plato,
indeed, by the word Idea understood the
original exemplar of things, whether sensible
or intellectual, in the Eternal Mind, con-
formable to which all things exist ; or the
abstract essences of things, as being Origi-
nals or Archetypes in that Infinite Intellect,
of which our ideas or conceptions are a kind
of copies. But perhaps it may be best to
confine the word idea to the immediate
objects of sense and imagination ; and to use
the word notion or conception to signify the
objects of consciousness or pure intellect —
though both of them may be expressed by
the general term thought.' (p. 3.) ' These
ideas, or objects of sense, are commonly
supposed to be pictures or representations of
things without us, and indeed external to any
mind, even that of the Deity Himself; and
the truth or reality of them is conceived to
consist in their being exact pictures of things
or objects without us, which are supposed to be
the real things. But, as it is impossible for us
to conceive what is without our minds, and
consequently what those supposed originals
are, and whether these ideas of ours are just
resemblances of them or not, I am afraid

1/6

Life and Letters of Berkeley

[CH.

It is a great pity that most of Berkeley's many letters to Johnson
have been lost, as some fragments which have been preserved are
of more interest to the metaphysician than any others in his
correspondence. I am indebted to Mr. Oilman, of Yale College,
for the following, one of the few that have been rescued : —

Reverend Sir,

Yours of Feb. 5th came not to my hands before yesterday ; and this
afternoon, being informed that a sloop is ready to sail towards your town,
I would not let slip the opportunity of returning you an answer, though
wrote in a hurry.

I. I have no objection against Ccdling the Ideas in the mind of God
archetypes of ours. But I object against those archetypes by philosophers
supposed to be real things, and to have an absolute rational existence
distinct from their being perceived by any mind whatsoever ; it being the

this notion of them will lead us into an in-
extricable scepticism. I am therefore apt
to think that these ideas, or immediate ob-
jects of sense, are the real things ; at least,
all that we are concerned with — I mean of
the sensible kind ; and that the reality of
them consists in their stability or consistence,
and their being, in a stable manner, exhibited
to our minds, or produced in them, in a
steady connexion with each other, con-
formable to certain fixed laws of nature,
which the great Father of Spirits hath
established to Himself, according to which
He constantly affects our minds, and from
which He will not vary unless upon extra-
ordinary occasions, as in the case of miracles.
Thus, for instance, there is a fixed, stable
connexion between things tangible and
things visible or the immediate objects of
touch and sight, — depending, as I conceive,
immediately upon the permanent, most wise
and almighty will of the great Creator and
Preserver of the world. By this, however, it
is not meant that visible objects are pictures
of tangible objects, for they are entirely
different and distinct things ; as different as
the sound triangle, and the figures signified
by it. All that can be meant by it there-
fore is, that, as tangible things are the
things immediately capable of producing (or
rather being attended with) sensible pleasure
and pain in us, according to the present laws
of our nature, on account of which they are
conceived as being properly the real things ;
so, the immediate objects of sight are always,

by the same stable law of our nature, con-
nected with them, as signs of them, and ever
correspondent and proportioned to them. . . .
Not that it is to be doubted that there are
Archetypes of these sensible ideas, but existing
external to our minds ; but then they must
exist in sowe other mind, and be ideas also
as well as ours ; because an idea can resem-
ble nothing but an idea, and an idea ever
implies, in the very nature of it, relation to
a mind perceiving it, or in which it exists.
But then, those Archetypes or Originals,
and the manner of their existence in that
Eternal Mind, must be entirely different from
that of their existence in our minds ; as
different as the manner of His existence is
from ours. In Him, they must exist as in
Original Intellect ; in us, only by way of
Sense and Imagination ; in Him as Originals,
in us only as faint copies : such as He thinks
fit to communicate to us, according to such
laws and limitations as He hath established,
and such as are sufficient to all the purposes
of our wellbeing, in which only we are con-
cerned. Our ideas, therefore, can no other-
wise be said to be images or copies of their
Archetypes in the Eternal Mind, than as our
souls are said to be imnges of Him, or as
we are said to be made after His image.'
(3 — 9.) The part of the Noetica which deals
with the pure Intellect and its notions, and
with intuitive Intellectual Light, is more
akin to Plato and Malebranche, and even
Kant, than to Berkeley's early philosophical
works.

v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. 177

opinion of all Materialists that an ideal existence in the Divine Mind is
one thing, and the real existence of material things another.

2. As to Space. I have no notion of any but that which is relative.
I know some late philosophers have attributed extension to God, par-
ticularly mathematicians, one of whom, in a treatise De Spatio RealP^,
pretends to find out fifteen of the incommunicable attributes of God in
Space. But it seems to me that they all being negative, he might as
well have found them in Nothing. And that it would have been as justly
inferred from Space being impassive, uncreated, indivisible, &c., that it
was Nothing as that it was God.

Sir Isaac Newton supposeth an absolute Space, different from relative,
and consequent thereto ; absolute Motion different from relative motion ;
and with all other mathematicians he supposeth the infinite divisibility of
the finite parts of this absolute Space ; he also supposeth material bodies
to drift therein. Now, though I do acknowledge Sir Isaac to have been
an extraordinary man, and most profound mathematician, yet I cannot
agree with him in these particulars. I make no scruple to use the word
Space, as well as all other words in common use ; but I do not thereby
mean a distinct absolute being. For my meaning I refer you to what I
have published.

By the * * * I suppose that all things, past and to come, are actually
present to the mind of God, and that there is in Him no change, varia-
tion, or succession. A succession of ideas I take to consfitiUe Time, and
not to be only the sensible measure thereof, as ]\Ir. Locke and others
think. But in these matters every man is to think for himself, and speak
as he finds. One of my earliest inquiries was about Time, which led me
into several paradoxes, that I did not think fit or necessary to publish ;
particularly the notion that the Resurrection follows the next moment to
death. We are confounded and perplexed about Time, — (i) Supposing
a succession in God; (2) conceiving that we have an abstract idea of
Time ; (3) supposing that the Time in one mind is to be measured by
the succession of ideas in another; (4) not considering the true use and
end of words, which as often terminate in the will '^ as in the under-
standing.

3. That the soul of man is passive as well as active, I make no doubt.
Abstract general ideas was a notion that Mr. Locke held in common with
the schoolmen, and I think all other philosophers ; it runs through his
whole book of Human Understanding. He holds an abstract idea of

2' Be Spncio Reali, sen ente Infinilo : elsewhere a doctrine regarding mysteries is
Conamen Math. Metaph. (1706). proposed that is not unlike Kant's regulative

'^ See Ahiphron, Dial. VII., where and ideas of reason, and practical postulates.

VOL. IV. N

178 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Existence, exclusive of perceiving and being perceived. I cannot find I
have any such idea, and this is my reason against it. Des Cartes proceeds
upon other principles. One square foot of snow is as white as a thousand
yards ; one single perception is as truly a perception as one hundred.
Now, any degree of perception being sufficient to Existence, it will not
follow that we should say one existed more at one time than another, any
more than we should say a thousand yards of snow are whiter than one
yard. But, after all, this comes to a verbal dispute. I think it might
prevent a good deal of obscurity and dispute to examine w^ell what I
have said about abstraction, and about the true sense and significance of
words, in several parts of these things that I have published ^^, though
much remains to be said upon that subject.

You say you agree with me that there is nothing within your mind
but God and other spirits, with the attributes or properties belonging to
them, and the ideas contained in them.

This is a principle or main point, from which, and from what I had
laid down about abstract ideas, much may be deduced. But if in every
inference we should not agree, so long as the main points are settled and
well understood, I should be less solicitous about particular conjectures.
I could wish that all the things I have published on these philosophical
subjects were read in the order wherein I published them, and a second
time with a critical eye, adding your own thought and observation upon
every part as you went along.

I send you herewith the bound books and one unbound. You will
take yourself what you have not already — you will give the Principles,
the Theory, and the Dialogues, one of each, with my service, to the gen-
tleman who is Fellow of Newhaven College, whose compliments you
brought to me. What remains you will give as you please.

If at any time your affairs should draw you into these parts, you shall
be very welcome to pass as many days as you can spend at my house.
Four or five days' conversation would set several things in a fuller and
clearer light than writing could do in as many months. In the mean-
time, I shall be glad to hear from you or your friends, whenever
you please to favour,

Reverend Sir,

Your very humble servant,
GEORGE BERKELEY.

^ See, in particular, the Introduction to Appendix to the first volume of this edition
the Principles of Human Knowledge; also of Berkeley's Works.

v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. 179

Pray let me know whether they would admit the writings of Hooker
and Chillingworth into the Library of the College in Newhaven ^*.

Rhode Island^ March 24, 1730.

The following fragment of a letter to Johnson, without date, but
probably written about this time, is contained in the Appendix to
Chandler's L.lfe of Johnson : —

... It is a common fault for men to hate opposition, and to be too
much wedded to their own opinions. I am so sensible of this in others
that I could not pardon it to myself, if I considered mine any further
than they seem to me to be true ; which I shall be the better able to
judge of, when they have passed the scrutiny of persons so well qualified
to examine them as you and your friends appear to be ; to whom my
illness ^^ must be an apology for not sending this answer sooner.

I . The true use and end of Natural Philosophy is to explain the phe-
nomena of nature, which is done by discovering the laws of nature, and
reducing particular appearances to them. This is Sir Isaac Newton's
method ; and such method or design is not in the least inconsistent with
the principles I lay down. This mechanical philosophy doth not assign
or suppose any one natural efficient cause in the strict and proper sense;
nor is it, as to its use, concerned about matter ; nor is matter connected
therewith; nor doth it infer the being of matter. It must be owned,
indeed, that the mechanical philosophers do suppose (though unneces-
sarily) the being of matter. They do even pretend to demonstrate that
matter is proportional to gravity, which, if they could, this indeed would
furnish an unanswerable objection. But let us examine their demon-
stration. It is laid down in the first place, that the momentum of any
body is the product of its quantity by its velocity, moles in celeritatem
ducta. If, therefore, the velocity is given, the momentum will be as its
quantity. But it is observed that bodies of all kinds descend in vacuo
with the same velocity ; therefore the momentum of descending bodies
is as the quantity or moles, i. e. gravity is as matter. But this argument
concludes nothing, and is a mere circle. For, I ask, when it is premised
that the momentum is equal to the moles in celeritatem ducta, how the
moles or quantity of matter is estimated. If you say, by extent, the pro-
position is not true ; if by weight, then you suppose that the quantity of

^* He refers to a supposed Puritan pre- munity, and its occasion,
judice, which might have been strengthened ^' 'I'his is the first of many references

by the withdrawal of Johnson and his afterwards to bad health,
friends from the Congregationalist com-

N 2

i8o Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH.

matter is proportional to matter : /. e. the conclusion is taken for granted
in one of the premises. As for absolute space and motion, which are
also supposed without any necessity or use, I refer you to what I have
already published ; particularly in a Latin treatise, De Motu, which I shall
take care to send to you.

2. Cause is taken in different senses. A proper active efficient cause
I can conceive none but Spirit ; nor any action, strictly speaking, but
•where there is Will. But this doth not hinder the allowing occasional
causes (which are in truth but signs), and more is not requisite in the
best physics, i. e. the mechanical philosophy. Neither doth it hinder the
admitting other causes besides God ; such as spirits of different orders,
which may be termed active causes, as acting indeed, though by limited
and derivative powers. But as for an unthinking agent, no point of
physics is explained by it, nor is it conceivable.

3. Those who have all along contended for a material world have
yet acknowledged that naiura naiurans (to use the language of the
schoolmen) is God ; and that the divine conservation of things is equi-
pollent to, and, in fact, the same thing with a continued repeated
creation : in a word, that conservation and creation differ only in the
terminus a quo. These are the common opinions of the schoolmen ;
and Durandus, who held the world to be a machine like a clock, made
and put in motion by God, but afterwards continuing to go of itself,
was therein particular, and had few followers. The very poets teach a
doctrine not unlike the schools, — 31e?js agitat molem. (Virg. ^neid VI.)
The Stoics and Platonists are everywhere full of the same notion. I
am not therefore singular in this point itself, so much as in my way of
proving it. Further, it seems to me that the power and \visdom of God
are as worthily set forth by supposing him to act immediately as an omni-
present infinitely active spirit, as by supposing him to act by the media-
tion of subordinate causes, in preserving and governing the natural
world. A clock may indeed go independent of its maker or artificer,
inasmuch as the gravitation of its pendulum proceeds from another
cause, and that the artificer is not the adequate cause of the clock ; so
that the analogy would not be just to suppose a clock is in respect of its
artist what the world is in respect of its Creator. For aught I can see,
it is no disparagement to the perfections of God to say that all things
necessarily depend on him as their Conservator as well as Creator, and
that all nature would shrink to nothing, if not upheld and preserved in
being by the same force that first created it. This I am sure is agree-
able to Holy Scripture, as well as to the writings of the most esteemed
philosophers ; and if it is to be considered that men make use of tools

v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. i8i

and machines to supply defect of power in themselves, we shall think it
no honour to the divinity to attribute such things to him.

4. As to guilt, it is the same thing whether I kill a man with my
hands or an instrument ; whether I do it myself or make use of a ruffian.
The imputation therefore upon the sanctity of God is equal, whether
we suppose our sensations to be produced immediately by God, or by
the mediation of instruments and subordinate causes, all which are his
creatures, and moved by his laws. This theological consideration,
therefore, may be waved, as leading beside the question; for such I
hold all points to be which bear equally hard on both sides of it.
Difficulties about the principle of moral actions will cease, if we consider
that all guilt is in the will, and that our ideas, from whatever cause they
are produced, are alike inert.

5. As to the art and contrivance in the parts of animals, &c., I have
considered that matter in the Principles of Hu??iati Knoialedge^^, and, if I
mistake not, sufficiently shown the wisdom and use thereof, considered
as signs and means of information. I do not indeed wonder that on first
reading what I have written, men are not thoroughly convinced. On
the contrary, I should very much wonder if prejudices, which have been
many years taking root, should be extirpated in a few hours' reading. I
had no inclination to trouble the world with large volumes. What I
have done was rather with a view of giving hints to thinking men, who
have leisure and curiosity to go to the bottom of things, and pursue
them in their own minds. Two or three times reading these small
tracts, and making what is read the occasion of thinking, would, I be-
lieve, render the whole familiar and easy to the mind, and take off that
shocking appearance which hath often been observed to attend specu-
lative truths.

6. I see no difficulty in conceiving a change of state, such as is
vulgarly called Death, as well without as with material substance. It
is sufficient for that purpose that we allow sensible bodies, t. e. such as
are immediately perceived by sight and touch ; the existence of which I
am so far from questioning (as philosophers are used to do), that I
establish it, I think, upon evident principles. Now, it seems very easy
to conceive the soul to exist in a separate state {i. e. divested from those
limits and laws of motion and perception with which she is embarrassed
here), and to exercise herself on new ideas, without the intervention of
these tangible things we call bodies. It is even very possible to ap-
prehend how the soul may have ideas of colour without an eye, or of
sounds without an ear

^^ See sect. 60 — 66.

l82

Life and Letters of Berkeley.

[CH.

New England at this time possessed in Jonathan Edwards the
most subtle reason er that America has produced, and what is not
generally known, an able defender of Berkeley's great philoso-
phical conception, in its application to the material world.
Edwards was born in 1703, at Windsor in Connecticut, and
he spent a youth of devout meditation there, and on the banks
of the Hudson river. He was one of Johnson's pupils at Yale
College, and when Berkeley was at Rhode Island, Edwards was
a pastor at Northampton in Massachusetts. The wonderful
power of subtle ratiocination, and the sublimely fervid if con-
fined piety of this extraordinary man have left their mark upon
successive generations of American theologians. His celebrated
Inquiry into the Freedom of the Will did not appear till 1754^ but
it is in his earlier writings that he unfolds his views about the
nature of sensible things. He does not name Berkeley, and it is
not likely that they ever met^'^.

^ A few quotations from Jonathan Ed-
wards may illustrate what I have said : —

' When we say that the world, /. e. the
material universe, exists nowhere but in the
mind, we have got to such a degree of
strictness and abstraction that we must be
exceedingly careful that we do not confound
and lose ourselves by misapprehension. It
is impossible that it should be meant that
all the world is contained in the narrow
compass of a few inches of space, in little
ideas in the place of the brain ; for that
would be a contradiction ; for we are to
remember that the human body, and the
brain itself, exist only mentally, in the same
sense that other things do ; and so that
which we call place is an idea too. There-
fore things are truly in those places ; for
what we mean, when we say so, is only,
that this mode of our idea of place apper-
tains to such an idea. We would not there-
fore be understood to deny that things are
where they seem to be. Nor will it be
found that the principles we lay down shall
make void Natural Philosophy ; for to find
out the reasons of things in Natural Philo-
sophy is only to find out the proportion of
God's acting. And the case is the same as
to such acting whether we suppose the world

only mental in our sense or no Place

itself is only mental ; within and without are
there mental conceptions. When I say, the
Material Universe exists only in the mind,
I mean, that it is absolutely dependent on
the conception of the mind for its existence ;

and does not exist as Spirits do, whose exist-
ence does not consist in, nor in dependence
on, the conceptions of other minds, we
must be exceedingly careful lest we con-
found ourselves by mere imagination. It is
from hence I expect the greatest opposition.
It will appear a ridiculous thing, I suppose,
that the material world exists nowhere but
in the soul of man, confined within his
skull ; but we must again remember what
sort of exis'.ence the head and brain have.
The soul, in a sense, has its seat in the
brain ; and so, in a sense, the visible world
is existent out of the mind ; for it certainly,
in the proper sense, exists out of the

brain Space is a necessary being, if

it may be called a being ; and yet we have
also shown, that all existence is mental, that
the existence of all exterior things is ideal.
Therefore it is a necessary being only as it
is a necessary idea, &c.' See Memoirs of
yonathan Edwards, by Sereno E. Dwight —
Appendix, ' Remarks in Mental Philosophy.'
The conception which runs through these
and other passages blends with much in the
later theological writings of Edwards. But
if he thus agrees with Berkeley in his ac-
count of sensible things, they separate in
their theory of causatioti and free-will.
Free agency, which is involved in the Dual-
ism of Berkeley, is argued against by
Edwards, whose speculative theology or
philosophy is hardly to be distinguished
from that of Spinoza. Berkeleism is essen-
tially a philosophy of causation.

v.] A Recluse in Rhode Isla7td. 183

But we must return from philosophy to the enterprise which
brought Berkeley to his seclusion in Rhode Island. The Bermuda
prospect now begins to darken, even to his eye. There are
gloomy symptoms in the following letters to Prior, in May and
July, 1730:—

Dear Tom,

Last week I received a packet from you by the way of Philadelphia, the
postage whereof amounted to above four pounds of this country money.
I thank you for the enclosed pamphlet^*, which in the main I think very
seasonable and useful. It seems to me, that in computing the sum-total
of the loss by absentees, you have extended some articles beyond the due
proportion ; e. g. when you charge the whole income of occasional ab-
sentees in the third class : and that you have charged some articles twice ;
e.g. when you make distinct arUcles for law-suits £9,000 and for attend-
ance for employments J8,ooo, both which seem already charged in the
third class. The tax you propose seems very reasonable, and I wish it
may take effect, for the good of the kingdom, which will be obliged to
you whenever it is brought about. That it would be the interest of
England to allow a free trade to Ireland, I have been thoroughly con-
vinced ever since my being in Italy, and have upon all occasions
endeavoured to convince English gentlemen thereof, and have convinced
some, both in and out of Parliament ; and I remember to have dis-
coursed with you at large upon this subject when I was last in Ireland.
Your hints for setting up new manufactures seem reasonable ; but the
spirit of projecting is low in Ireland.

Now, as to my own affair, I must tell you that I have no intention of
continuing in these parts but in order to settle the College his Majesty
hath been pleased to found at Bermuda ; and I wait only the payment of
the king's grant to transport myself and family thither. I am now em-
ploying the interest of my friends in England for that purpose ; and
have wrote in the most pressing manner either to get the money paid, or
at least to get a positive answer that may direct me what course I am to
take. Dr. Clayton indeed hath wrote me word, that he hath been
informed by a good friend of mine (who had it from a very great man),
that the money will not be paid. But I cannot look upon a hearsay, at
second or third hand, to be a proper answer for me to act upon. I have
therefore suggested to the Doctor, that he ought to go himself with the

'' Tx\ar's List of the Absentees of Ireland. himself at the time an 'absentee,' and so
It was published at Dublin in 1729, and described by Prior, ' the yearly value of his
dedicated to Lord Carteret. Berkeley was estates spent abroad being about £900.'

184 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH.

letters-patent containing the grant in his hands, to the Treasury, and
there make his demand in form. I have also wrote to others to use their
interest at Court ; though indeed one would have thought all solicitation
at an end when once I had obtained a grant under his INIajesty's hand
and the broad seal of England. As to going to London and soliciting
in person, I think it reasonable first to see what my friends can do ; and
the rather because I cannot suppose my own solicitations will be more
regarded than theirs. Be assured I long to know the upshot of this
matter ; and that, upon an explicit refusal, I am determined to return
home ; and that it is not the least in my thoughts to continue abroad
and hold my Deanery. It is well known to many considerable persons
in England, that I might have had a dispensation for holding it for life ;
and that I was much pressed to it, but I resolutely declined it : and if our
design of a College had taken place as soon as I once hoped it would, I
should have resigned before this time. A little after my first coming to
this island, I entertained some thoughts of applying to his INIajesty (when
Dr. Clayton had received the 20,000 pounds, the patent for which I left
with him), to translate our College hither ; but have since seen cause to
lay aside all thoughts of that matter. I do assure you, bona fide, that I
have not the least intention to stay here longer than I can get a clear
answer from the Government; for, upon all private accounts, I should
like Derry better than New England. As to the reason of my coming to
this island, I think I have already informed you that I have been at great
expence in purchasing land and stock here, which might supply the
defects of Bermuda, and so obviate a principal objection that was made
to placing a College there. To conclude, as I am here in order to
execute a design addressed for by Parliament, and set on foot by his
Majesty's royal Charter, I think myself obliged to wait the event, what-
ever course is taken in Ireland about my Deanery. I had wrote to both
the bishops of Raphoe^^ and Derry*"; but letters are of uncertain passage.
Yours was half a year in coming ; and I have had some a year after
their date, though often in two months, and sometimes less. I must
desire you to present my duty to both their Lordships, and acquaint
them with what I have now wrote to you in answer to the kind message
from my Lord of Derry, conveyed by your hands ; for which I return my
humble thanks to your Lordship.

I long to hear the success of our law-suit with Partinton. What I
hear from England about our college-grant you shall know.

My wife gives her service to you. She hath been lately ill of a mis-
carriage ; but is now, I thank God, recovered. Our little son is great

=" Bishop Forster. *« Bishop Downes.

v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. 185

joy to us. We are such fools as to think him the most perfect thing we
ever saw in its kind. I wish you all happiness ; and remain, dear Tom,

yours affectionately,

G. BERKELEY.
Rhode Island, May 7, 1730.

This is a duplicate of a letter I sent you several months ago. I have
not since had one line from the persons I had wrote to, to make the last
instances for the 20,000 pounds. This I impute to an accident that we
hear happened to a man of war, as it was coming down the river, bound
for Boston, where it was expected some months ago, and is now daily
looked for, with the new governor.

The newspapers of last February mentioned Dr. Clayton's being made
bishop. I wish him joy of his preferment, since I doubt we are not
likely to see him in this part of the world.

I know not how to account for my not hearing that the dispute with
Partinton is finished one way or other before this time.

Newport in Rhode Island, July 20, 1730.

The forebodings are confirmed in this scrap of a letter from
Dr. Cutler at Boston to Dr. Zachary Grey*^ : —

Boston, May 9, 1730.

. . . Dean Berkeley leads a private life at Rhode Island, and I have
yet wanted the happiness of paying my respects to him. Some say his
designs will come to nothing; and I fear they guess right.

The important autumn and winter of 1 730 is nearly a blank in
our picture of Berkeley's course, and we are left to conjecture.
The crisis of the Bermuda College was now come. The estate had
been purchased, and the public money was due. But Sir Robert
Walpole had never entered heartily into the project. His ruling
political idea was the consolidation of England under the house
of Brunswick. An explosion of Christian knight-errantry in the
colonies was not embraced in this ruling notion_, and might in its
issues turn out to be in many ways inconsistent with it. The
presence in London of the enthusiastic leader of the expedition
four years before, had carried the grant through the House of
Commons. But the brave missionary, his motives and action
misinterpreted^ was now a studious recluse in Rhode Island.

*' Nichols's Illuslradous, vol. IV. p. 289.

1 86 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

This winter of 1730 — 31 was probably a time of anxious cor-
respondence between Berkeley in his island home and London.
Gibson, the Bishop of London ^2^ with whose diocese the western
hemisphere was connected, tired of official excuses and evasions,
pressed for a definite issue to the negotiations and promises of so
many years. A conclusive answer was at last given to him.
* If you put this question to me as a minister,' said Walpole, ' I
must, and can, assure you, that the money shall most undoubtedly
be paid, as soon as suits with public convenience ; but if you ask
me as a friend, whether Dean Berkeley should continue in America,
expecting the payment of ^20,000, I advise him by all means to
return home to Europe, and to give up his present expectations.'
And so, about the beginning of the year 173 1, the Prime Minister
of England was, it seems, able to crush the project which about
the year 1731 was first conceived by the philanthropist and
philosopher *'^.

The correspondence which ended in this heavy blow to the
single-minded and patient student at Whitehall, I am not able to
present. Even the letters to Prior end with the one already given,
dated July 1730, when the issue was still doubtful. Yet Berkeley's
stay at Whitehall was prolonged for more than a year after that
letter to Prior. A sentence in one of Cutler's letters to Grey,
preserved by Nichols*^, is our only account of him during the fol-
lowing winter and spring: — 'Boston, April 20, 1731 Dean

Berkeley is coming home, leaving us lamenting the loss of him.'
But his departure was still delayed. This, the year of his great
disappointment, was perhaps the most studious year of his life.
Alciphron was written, as it seems, in 173T. The picture with
which the book opens reveals his feelings, and the way in which he
soothed them : — ' I flattered myself, Theages^ that before this time
T might have been able to have sent you an agreeable account of
the success of the aJEFair which brought me into this remote corner

*^ Edmund Gibson, D.D. (1669 — 1748), the marriage portion of the Princess Royal,

one of the most learned of contemporary on her marriage with the Prince of Orange,

divines, was Bishop of London from 1723 General Oglethorpe induced Parliament to

till his death. He is celebrated as the author vote the remainder for his new colony of

of the Codex Juris Ecclesiastici Anglicani Georgia, in America — after obtaining Ber-

(17 1 3) keley's consent to this application of the

*^ Parliamentary influence soon after money. See Journals of the House of

diverted the grants into another channel. Commons, May 10, 16, and 17, 1733.
The lands in St. Christopher's produced *' Illustrations, vol. IV. p. 292.

X'90,000. Of this £80,000 was granted as

v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. 187

of the country. But, instead of this, I should now give you the
detail of its miscarriage, if I did not rather chose to entertain
you with some amusing incidents, which have helped to make me
easy under a circumstance I could neither obviate nor foresee.
Events are not in our power ; but it always is, to make a good
use even of the very worst. And I must needs own, the course
and event of this affair gave opportunity for reflections, that make
me some amends for a great loss of time, pains, and expense.
A life of action, which takes its issue from the counsels, passions,
and views of other men, if it doth not draw a man to imitate, will
at least teach him to observe. And a mind at liberty to reflect on
its own observations, if it produce nothing useful to the world,
seldom fails of entertainment to itself. For several months past
I have enjoyed such liberty and leisure in this distant retreat, far
beyond the verge of that great whirlpool of business, faction, and
pleasure, which is called the World. And a retreat in itself
agreeable, after a long scene of trouble and disquiet, was made
much more so by the conversation and good qualities of my host
Euphranor, who unites in his own person the philosopher and the
farmer, two characters not so inconsistent in nature as by custom
they seem to be.' This first page of Alciphron represents Ber-
keley in the last year of his family life at Whitehall. The whole
book represents his studies there, in the library, in the field, and
on the sea shore.

A few fragments belonging to the summer of 1731 remain.
In the parish records of Trinity Church at Newport, the following
entry may be found:— 'June 11, 1731. Philip Berkley, Anthony
Berkley, Agnes Berkley, negroes, received into the Church.' It
appears that Berkeley, like his neighbours in the island, had
slaves. The Berkeley Papers contain a document, signed by the
Honourable J. Jenks, Governor of Rhode Island, and W. Cod-
dington, the Deputy- Governor, which records the purchase of a
slave by him. Slavery, as such, does not seem to have vexed his
conscience more than it did St. Paul's ^^. But he was indignant

^ So too with the Puritan ministers of ' quick stock,' one negro boy, Titus, valued

last century in New England. In the in- at a hundred dollars. And Dr. Hopkins,

ventory of Jonathan Edwards' estate, after an eminent American divine, owned a slave,

his death, there was mentioned among his See Park's Memoir of Hopkins, p. 114.

1 88 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

at the 'irrational contempt of the blacks, as creatures of another
species, who had no right to be instructed or admitted to the
sacraments.' And he proclaimed emphatically that a state of
slavery was not inconsistent with being baptized.

Domestic sorrow darkened his home as the autumn advanced.
The following inscription may be read on the tombstone of his
friend Nathanael Kay, in the burial ground of Trinity Church:—
'Joining to the south of this tomb lies Lucia Berkeley, daughter
of Dean Berkeley. Obiit^ the 5th of September 1731.' It is our
only record of the birth of this second child. His daughter Lucia
was left to lie among the hospitable society of that olden time,
who now sleep round the venerable church in which they once
listened to her father's words.

This sorrow must have been on the eve of the departure, as is
shown by the following letter to Johnson at Stratford : —

Rev. Sir,

I AM now upon the point of setting out for Boston, in order to embark
for England. But the hurry I am in could not excuse my neglecting to
acknowledge the favour of your letter. In answer to the obliging things
in it, I can only say I wish I might deserve them.

My endeavours shall not be wanting, some way or other, to be useful ;
and I should be very glad to be so in particular to the College at
Newhaven, and the more as you were once a member of it, and have
still an influence there. Pray return my service to those gentlemen who
sent their complements by you.

I have left a box of books with Mr. Kay, to be given away by you —
the small English books where they may be most serviceable among the
people, the others as w^e agreed together. The Greek and Latin books
I would have given to such lads as you think will make the best use of
them in the College, or to the School at Newhaven.

I pray God to bless you, and your endeavours to promote religion and
learning in this uncultivated part of the world, and desire you to accept
mine and my wife's best wishes and services, being very truly, Rev. Sir,

Your most humble servant,

GEORGE BERKELEY.
Rhode Island,
Sep. 7, 1731.

We may conclude that Berkeley, with his wife and their in-
fant child, bade farewell to Whitehall and to Rhode Island soon

v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. 189

after this letter was written. It was probably in October or
November that they sailed from Boston. At any rate, Berkeley
reappeared in London in February, 1732. Their companions in
the voyage from Gravesend were left in America. Later cor-
respondence shows that Mr. James was in Boston several years
after this. The artist Smibert settled there, and his name is
still remembered in America. He was the first person in New
England who devoted himself to his art. Berkeley it is said
met Smibert in Italy, and afterwards invited him to join the
Bermuda expedition as professor of the Fine Arts in the projected
College. In Berkeley's artistic designs of the city of Bermuda —
the Athens of his Utopia — a museum of the Arts was conspicuous.
Smibert's influence is still felt in at least one of the Colleges of
New England. To him Yale College owes the portrait of Ber-
keley, an engraving of which is presented to the readers of this
edition of his works. The original picture presents a group, in
which the philosopher appears standing beside a table, with his
hand upon his favourite Plato, and apparently dictating to an
amanuensis. His wife and another lady, probably Miss Hand-
cock, are seated near him, the lady with a child in her arms.
Dalton seems to be acting as Berkeley's amanuensis, while Mr.
James is standing behind the two ladies. The artist himself ap-
pears in the picture, and another person said to be an American
friend. There are thus eight figures on the canvas. It was
probably painted at Boston, when the Berkeley family were about
to leave America. It was long preserved there in the studio of
the Smiberts, and was given to Yale College in i 808 '**'.

Thus ended the romantic episode of Rhode Island, which warms
the heart, and touches the imagination more perhaps than any
event in Berkeley's life. Of all who have ever landed on the
American shore, none was ever animated by a purer and more

^^ ' The portrait painter, Mr. Smibert, who Updike, p. 523 note.) There is still e.xtaiit

accompanied Dr. Berkeley to America in a portrait of Dr. M'Sparran by Smibert, said

1728, was employed,' says Dr. Barton, ' by to have been painted during the visit which

the Grand Duke of Florence to paint two Berkeley and the artist made to the good

or three Siberian Tartars, presented by the missionary, soon after their arrival at

Duke to the Czar of Russia. Mr. Smibert, Newport, when the object of their visit

on his landing at Narragansett with Dr. was to see the North American Indians.

Berkeley, instantly recognized the Indians Smibert died at Boston, and had as a pupil

to be the same people as the Siberian Tar- the artist Copley, father of the late Lord

tars whose pictures he had painted,' (See Lyndhurst

ipo Life and Letters of Berkeley.

self-sacrificing spirit. It is for this, more than for his specu-
lative thought, that he is now remembered in New England.
The cosmopolitan Berkeley has left curiously few local impres-
sions at any of the places where he lived, perhaps more in Rhode
Island than anywhere else. The island still acknowledges that,
by his visit, it has been touched with the halo of a great and
sacred reputation. His direct influence is now, however, hardly
to be found in the history of American thought, though his phi-
losophy was professed by two of the greatest American thinkers —
Samuel Johnson and Jonathan Edwards. The colonies in general
were too insulated in sectional interests, and too little given to
speculative studies, to receive and preserve a subtle philosophic
doctrine.

We must now return to less romantic and more familiar scenes.

CHAPTER VI.

BACK TO LONDON, AND IN CONTROVERSY.
1732— 1734.

Berkeley returned to England in the end of 173 1, with his wife
and their infant child. His long cherished hopes were dis-
appointed, and he had now to satisfy himself with his Irish
Deanery. The vision of the America of the future, civilized and
enlightened by a Christian University, which had filled his imagi-
nation during the best years of middle life, was dissolved. The
* astonishing and animating force of eloquence and enthusiasm/
which years before almost persuaded the party at Lord Bathurst's
to accompany him across the ocean, had failed to move Sir Robert
Walpole. The failure affected the whole following period of his
life. After his return from America one sees signs of a less
buoyant spirit. There are soon not unfrequent complaints of
failing health. And a greater disposition to recluse study is
shown than since he left Trinity College in the spring of 17 13:
the tranquil and domestic influences of Rhode Island were
favourable to this.

It was probably on one of the early days of 1732 that Berkeley
arrived in London. On Friday the i8th of February, he preached
the Sermon at the anniversary meeting of the Society for the
Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, in the Church of
St. Mary-le-Bow. The office was usually confined to bishops,
but it was on this occasion appropriately offered to the Dean of
Derry. The sermon was published. It is the only one of
Berkeley's which was published during his life : the Discourse on
Passive Obedience is hardly an exception.

The Christian knowledge of God, and the moral obligation of
diffusing it, is the subject of this missionary sermon. Berkeley's
inclination to connect in a practical way the mysteries of faith

192 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

with human action, and his aversion to verbal abstractions ap-
pear in his description of what religious knowledge is. He saw
in the Christian religion something meant for the mass of man-
kind, and which therefore could not consist in ' subtle and nice
notions.' The time when divinity began to be treated as an
abstract science marked, he thought, the beginning of its loss
of spiritual power over its professors. ' Doubtless the making
religion a notional thing hath been of infinite disservice. Its
holy mysteries are rather to be received with the humility of
faith than defined with the accuracy of human reason.' He re-
commended religion, in the broad spirit of the New Testament,
according to the sober and reverent tone of the AngUcan Church,
without theological leaning towards a particular school. Rhode
Island, and the good missionaries from whom he had so lately
parted, were not forgotten. He referred with characteristic be-
nignity to the academic and other endeavours alike of Con-
formists and Nonconformists in New England, while he repeated
those commonplaces of charity and toleration which, however
often repeated, are so readily forgotten.

Berkeley's practical interest in religious learning in New Eng-
land ceased but with his life. It showed itself soon after this
sermon was preached. His friend Johnson, in his youth a gra-
duate and tutor of Yale College at Newhaven, had not lost his
influence in that seminary by his conformity to the Church. Both
of them wished to encourage a wisely-managed institution of
learning, though Churchmen were not among the trustees. And
as to Berkeley's philosophy, the President said that Yale College
would ' probably always retain a favourable opinion of his idea
of material substance, as not consisting in an unknown and
inconceivable substratum, but in a stated union and combination
of sensible ideas.'

In the summer of 1732, accordingly, we find Berkeley employed
in providing for this rising seminary of learning in America.
As one part of the fruits of his liberality, he made over to it
his farm of ninety-six acres at Whitehall, for the encouragement
of Greek and Latin scholarship.

Two instruments of the conveyance are preserved in the archives
of the College. The first is dated on the 26th July, 1732. Some
changes in the terms, mutually agreed upon, led to a repetition of

VI.]

Back to London.

193

the deed, and a second was completed on the 17th of August, 1733^

^ The final Deed of Conveyance is as
follows : —

' This Indenture made the seventeenth
day of August in the Seventh year of the
Reign of our Sovereign Lord George the
Second, by the Grace of God King of Great
Britain, France and Ireland, Defender of the
Faith, and in the year of our Lord One
Thousand Seven Hundred Thirty Three, be-
tween George Berkeley, Doctor of Divinity,
Dean of Derry in the Kingdom of Ireland,
on the one part, and the Reverend Mr.
Elisha Williams, President or Rector with
the rest of the Corporation or incorporate
Society of Yale College in New Haven in
the Province of Connecticut, on the other,
witnesseth that for and in consideration of
the sum of Five Shillings of Lawful Money
of Great Britain to the said George Berkeley
by the said Corporation, in hand paid at or
before the ensealing and delivery of these
presents, the receipt whereof is hereby
acknowledged, and for divers other good
causes and considerations, he the said George
Berkeley hath granted, bargained, sold, and
by these presents doth grant, bargain and
sell unto the said Corporation and their
successors, all that messuage tenement or
dwelling house, stable and crib, and a certain
tract of land to the same adjoining and be-
longing, containing about Ninety-Six Acres
(be the same more or less) and consisting of
one orchard and the rest arable pasture, mea-
dow and wood land, situate, lying and being
in Newport, in the Colony of Rhode Island
and Providence Plantations, and bounded
northerly partly on land now or late of
James Barker, and partly on School lands,
easterly by a highway, and partly by a
small piece of land of about half a quarter
of an acre with a house thereon, southerly
by a highway, and westerly by land now or
late in the possession of the Widow Turner,
together with all rights, profits, privileges
and appurtenances thereunto belonging or
appertaining, and the reversion and rever-
sions, remainder and remainders thereof, and
all the estate, right, title, property, claim
and demand whatsoever of him the said
George Berkeley of in and unto the said
premises and every part and parcell thereof.
' To have and to hold the said dwelling-
house, stable, tract of land, and premises
hereby granted, bargained and scld, with
their and every of their appurtenances, unto
the said corporation or incorporate society
and their successors, for ever, under, and
subject to the conditions, provisoes and
powers, and under the rules and orders here-

VOL. IV. O

inafter mentioned, expressed and declared of
and concerning the same ; that is to say,
that they the said corporation or incorporate
society, and their successors do and shall,
for ever hereafter, pay and apply the clear
yearly rents and profits of the said premises
from time to time, as the same shall become
due and payable, and as they shall receive
the same, (they the said corporation or in-
corporate society, and their successors re-
spectively, first deducting thereout, all such
reasonable costs and charges as they, or any
of them shall, from time to time, and at any
time hereafter incur, sustain, or be put unto,
in the execution of the trust hereby in them
reposed) to three students of the said college,
towards their maintenance and subsistence
during the time between their first and second
degree ; such students being to be called
scholars of the house, and, during that space
of time, being hereby obliged to reside, at
least three quarters of each year, between
their first and second degree, in the said
college : and that the said students or
scholars of the house, be elected on the
sixth day of May, (if not on a Sunday) but
if it shall happen on a Sunday, then the
election to be on the day following, such
election to be performed by the President or
head of the college, for the time being,
jointly with the senior episcopal missionary
of that colony or province of Connecticut,
for the time being, that is to say, he who
hath been longest upon the mission in the
said colony, the candidates to be publicly
examined by the said President or Rector
and senior missionary, two hours in the
morning, in Greek, and in the afternoon,
two hours in Latin, on the day of election,
— all persons having free access to hear the
said examination : — and it is hereby declared
and intended, and it is the true intent and
meaning of the said George Berkeley, that
those who appear to be the best scholars on
said examination, be, without favour or
affection, elected ; — and in case of a division
of sentiment in the electors, the election to
be determined by lot : — and if the senior
episcopal clergyman shall not attend, then
any other episcopal clergyman of said colony
be intituled to elect, in course of seniority :
— and if none of the episcopal clergy shall
attend, then, and in such case, the election
to be performed by the President or Rector
of the said college for the time being : —
Provided always, that whatever surplus of
money shall arise during the vacancies of
the said scholarships, the same to be laid
out for Greek and Latin books, to be dis-

194

Life and Letters of Berkeley.

[CH.

The rent of the farm was appropriated to three scholarships,
which have had no inconsiderable influence in promoting Greek
and Roman learning in America — ' a great incitement,' says Pre-
sident Clap, ' to a laudable ambition to excel in a knowledge of
the classics 2/

Besides the conveyance of Whitehall, Berkeley made a donation
of books to the Library of Yale College, with the help of some of
the Bermuda subscribers. They were sent from London in May
1733. This was, according to President Clap, the best collection
of books which had ever been brought, at one time, to America^,
consisting of nearly a thousand volumes, valued at about five
hundred pounds. The original invoice, notwithstanding its ob-
vious bibliographical imperfections, is interesting as it illustrates
Berkeley's preference in the selection^.

posed of by the said electors on the said daj'
of election to such of the undergraduate
students as shall shew themselves most de-
serving by their compositions in ihe Latin
tongue on a moral subject or theme proposed
by the electors.

' Provided also that if at any time or
times hereafter any difficulty, dispute or dif-
ference shall happen to arise concerning the
due Election of the said three Scholars of the
House, or any of them in manner aforesaid,
that then and in every such case the power
of explaining such difficulty, dispute or dif-
ference is hereby referred to the said George
Berkeley : Provided always, and it is hereby
declared to be the true intent and meaning
of these presents and the parties thereto,
that in case the said rules and orders con-
cerning the said election and the application
of the rents and profits of the said premisses
be not from time observed, that then and in
that case the grant of the said premisses to
the said Corporation of Yale College hereby
made shall cease, determine and be void.
'GEORGE BERKELEY.

' Signed, Sealed and Delivered
(being first duly Stampt) the
day and Year above written,
the words (or Rector) being
first interlin'd in the 25th and
30th Lines, in the presence
of us,

' Isaac Browne,
John Pierson,
Henry Newman.'

== See Clap's History of Yale College.
The Yale Literary Magazine for 1852
contains a list of ' Berkleian Scholars of the
House' from 1733, — 'to show how far the
results of this beneficence has fulfilled the
design of the pious founder.' ' It is a fact
of no slight significance,' the writer remarks,
' taken in connection with ihe orignial pur-
pose of Berkeley, that of this list nearly one
hundred are marked as ministers of the
Gospel, foremost among whom is President
Wheelock, who founded an Indian school,
the germ of Dartmouth College; while
hundreds more, not here enumerated, have
been recipients of this bounty in the shape
of the smaller premiums, among whom may
be named David Brainerd, the " Apostle to
the Indians." ' This list contains above two
hundred names, among them some of the
most eminent in America. President Dwight,
(the grandson of Joanathan Edwards), who
is one of them, published an American edi-
tion oi Alciphron in 1803.

^ I have now before me ' A Catalogue of
Boohs for Yale College, at New Haven, in
Co?mecticut, New England, 7narkt as in the
mar gent, consign' d to Mr. Andrew Belcher
at Boston, by Capt. Alden, master of the
Dolphin,' for which I am indebted to
Mr. Gilman.

They were ' shipp'd 30'' of May, I733.
by order of the Rev. Mr. Dean Berkeley, at
London,' and the invoice is signed ' Henry
Newman.' The Catalogue is too long to
be inserted here. It contains nearly five
hundred books — with some duplicates, about

VI.]

Back to London.

195

While Berkeley was trying thus to realise some part of his
magnificent American vision, he was also giving the world fruits
of his American studies, pursued in the secluded valley at White-
hall. In no period of his life did he contribute to literature so
copiously as in the two years which followed his return from
Rhode Island. With his young wife in his romantic home, he
had there indulged a love of study, which before that had been
disturbed by fifteen years of movement in Europe.

Alc'iphron^ or the Minute Philosopher ^ appeared in March 1732,
about two months after his return to England. It is the largest
of his works, and sooner engaged popular attention than any of its
predecessors. A second edition followed in the same year.

a thousand volumes. It contains
collection of Greek and Roman literature
and philosophy — Plato, Aristotle, the Neo-
platonists, Sextus Empiricus, &c. prominent.
The Greek and Latin Fathers are well re-
presented in some of the best editions.
There is a good deal of church history —
Eusebius, Nicephorus, Hardouin, Baronius,
Dupin, and others. The divinity is mostly
of the Anglican school — Hooker, Chilling-
worth, Barrow, Stillingfleet, Tillotson, South,
Bull, Chandler, Snialridge, Atterburj', Gib-
son, Sherlock, and the Boyle Lectures In
philosophy, besides the ancients, are the
works of Bacon, Malebranche, Locke, Gro-
tius, and Puffendorf — of Berkeley's own
works only Alciphron. The principal works
of Newton, Pemberton, Keil's Astronomy,
Ditton's Fluxions, and a few other mathe-
matical books, complete the scanty list in
that department. Works in natural history
and medicine have a large share — Hippo-
crates, Celsus, Willisius, Sydenham, Diemer-
broek, Ray's Hist. Plant., the Hist. Nat. of
Jonstonus, the Op. Med. of Freind, Arbuthnot
onAli7nenls,Chtyi\t'sEssay onHealth, and on
The English Malady, Hale's Vegetable Staticl<s,
&c. ; also Burnet's Theory, and Whiston's.
In English literature there is a fair collection
of poets — including Spenser, Shakespeare,
Ben Jonson, Cowley, Milton, Butler, Waller,
Dryden, Blackmore, Pope, Prior, Steele,
Swift's Miscellanies, &c, ; also a few repre-
sentatives of French literature — Fenelon,
Fontanelle, La Bruyere, Rapin, &c. In
history we find Clarendon, Burnet, Kennet,
&c. The works of Erasmus, Vossius, and
the Acta Ernditorum from 1682 to 1706
(30 vols.), are also in the list.

Johnson mentions, in his Autobiography,
that the trustees of Yale College, ' though

they made an appearance of much thankful-
ness, were almost afraid to accept the noble
donation.' They recollected the effect of
Anglican divinity upon Johnson himself,
and some of their other tutors and graduates,
in previous years, and suspected a prosely-
tizmg design. But in the end a more liberal
spirit prevailed, and Berkeley kept up friendly
correspondence with the College to the end
of his life. There is, I believe, a ' Berkeley
Association' in Yale College at the present
day.

Harvard College, as well as Yale, shared
in Berkeley's liberality. The following ex-
tract, sent to me from the original records
of the College Corporation, is a proof of
this :—

' At a meeting of the President and Fellows
of Harvard College at Cambridge, September
3' 1733- — Whereas ihe Rev"^. Dean Ber-
keley has lately procured a valuable collec-
tion of books, and sent them to Harvard
College, voted y' y- thanks of y- Corpora-
tion be returned by y** President to ye Dean
for the above donation, procured and sent
by him, and y^ he be desired to make proper
acknowledgments, on behalf of y^ Corpora-
tion, to those gentlemen who have contri-
buted to so literal a benefaction '

The Harvard collection was destroyed by
fire in 1 764.

Trinity Church at Newport was not for-
gotten by Berkeley. A handsome organ, his
gift in 1733, still remains as a visible memo-
rial of his connection with the place. His
offer of an organ to a church in the town
of Berkeley, Mass., is said to have been too
much for the puritanical rigour of the in-
habitants, who unanimously voted it an
invention of the devil to entrap the souls
of men.

O 2

196 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

In a Preface to Alciphron^ I have given some account of its
design and contents. It was the fruit of years of thought about
the moral and religious scepticism of the time. Berkeley intended
in a series of dialogues to present different types of the class of
persons who claimed exclusively the name of ' Free-thinkers.' It
was a return, in fact, to the work begun in the Guardiajt^ in which he
had been employed nearly twenty years before. Materialistic free-
thinking had been growing in the interval, and he felt that this
was accompanied by a relaxation of the springs of spiritual life
in the new generation. Alclpkron was a fresh proclamation of
Berkeley's spiritual philosophy, in aspects which he thought fitted
to restore a depressed faith in Supreme Providential Mind, in
Moral Order, and in the Christian Mysteries.

The theological utilitarianism of his college days runs through
the first four dialogues of Aldphron^ where he wants to restore
belief in the moral government of the Universe. We might almost
expect to have his new Principle pressed here, and the reader
asked to apprehend intuitively the inseparableness of living mind
from the sensible world in any of its possible forms. But there is
no direct appeal of this sort. The argument dwelt upon is less
abstract. It is drawn from the New Theory of Vision^ rather than
from the Principles of Human Knoioledge. The fourth dialogue, in
which it is argued that Mind is the ultimate governing principle
in the universe, is simply the Neiu Theory of Vision of 1709, more
freely developed than it was in that juvenile essay, and made to
show that we literally see the Supreme Providential Being every
time we use our eyes ; in the very same way that we see a human
being when one is near us, and speaking to us.

The Neiv Theory of Vision^ it is to be remembered, explains the
connection established in our thoughts between what is seen and
what is felt, as the result of both an objective and a subjective
association. This is what one might call its ' constructive prin-
ciple.' The announcement of it naturally leads the thinker to in-
quire why the real ideas of sense are so associated among them-
selves as to form what to all practical purposes is a language ; and
a language which we are all induced to learn, through consequent
subjective associations among our ideas of imagination.

To this question various answers might be offered. The
confused popular answer would take for granted that the visible

vl] Back to London. 197

and the tangible are associated in sense, because it is one and
the same extended thing that is at once seen and felt. The
philosophers, again, in their fondness for abstractions, said that
what was touched and what was seen were common qualities
of an unperceived substance which they called Matter. Berkeley's
theory was different from both. They are sensibly associated, he
said, because the supreme Mind is always sustaining the associa-
tion.

Are the phenomena which we see, and those which we touch,
blindly united in and by a substance, called Matter^ of which we
can have no idea j or are they freely and rationally united by Divine
Will, and according to the Divine Ideas ? This, although he saw it
but dimly, is, I think, the profound question on which Berkeley's
theory of vision turns at last; and in employing this principle,
it expands from a mere psychological theory of vision into a
metaphysical theory of the universe. Berkeley himself did not
yet quite put it thus, but about the time that Alcipkron was written,
he was coming very near this : he was taking for granted that it
is more reasonable to suppose that the association (in sensible
things) between what is seen and what is felt, is the immediate
result of a Mind, more or less resembling our own, than to sup-
pose that it is due to abstract Matter — a mere name, into which
we can throw no meaning at all. We can understand, he would
probably argue, what is meant by another mind, because we have
experience in ourselves of what mind means; but we can have
no sensible experience or idea of unperceived material substance.
In the constant orderly associations of sight and feeling, we have
neither less nor more than an example of that relation between
signs and their meanings which we have when a human being is
actually speaking to us or writing to us. Accordingly, we have
the very same reason to say, that the whole sensible world con-
stantly expresses living Mind, that we have to say that the
spoken or written words actually uttered by a living human
being do so. ' In consequence of your own sentiments and con-
cessions,' Berkeley says^ to the atheistic free-thinker, 'you have
as much reason to think the Universal Agent or God speaks to
your eyes, as you can have for thinking any particular person

* Alciphron, Dial. IV. sect. 12, 14.

198 i Life mid Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

speaks to your ears. . . . You stare, it seems, to find that " God is
not far from any one of us," and that " in Him we live and move
and have our being." You who, in the beginning of this morning's
conference, thought it strange that God should leave Himself
without a witness, do now think it strange that the witness should
be so full and clear.'

That Berkeley does not refer more to the Divine Ideas makes his
speculation in this dialogue defective. His theory is a theological
sensationalism ; analogous, so far, to his theological utilitarianism.
It implies, if it does not say, that our sensations are signs of Divine
Ideas; through which the sensations, apparently heterogeneous,
are constructed into trees, and mountains, planets, and other
sensible things, in a way which makes them materials of science.
They are, in short, converted into objects proper, and charged with
scientific meaning, by means of Ideas which exist independently of
us the individual percipients. Berkeley's argument implies, though
it does not express, the existence of a system of fixed relations,
amidst which we are placed, in which we participate, and to which
the language of vision is adapted. Without those Divine Ideas
or objective relations, there is nothing to which the sensible signs
could be adapted.

This remarkable dialogue does not avoid, however, the closely-
related question of the nature of our knowledge of supreme
or infinite Mind. If God, as infinite, cannot be known
at all by the human mind, it seems to be of little moment
whether we speak of unknown Matter or of infinite Mind, as
the constructive principle of our sensible world. The sceptical
Lysides in the dialogue is quite ready to accept an unknown
subject of absolutely unknown attributes, as on the whole nearly
as good as no God at all. This leads to a discussion of the
question, whether, and to what extent, the Divine or Infinite
Mind can be known by a human mind -^ Berkeley's opinion on
this cardinal point in his philosophy, is then more distinctly
unfolded. He argues that God's knowledge differs in degree,
not in kind, from ours; and that when an intending Mind is
said to be the supreme power in the universe, this must mean —
mind in the human signification of that term, but indefinitely

^ See Alciphron, Dial. IV. sect. 16 — 22.

VI.] Back to London. 199

higher in degree, and cannot be a mere verbal cover for ignorance
and absurdity, as an unperceived Matter is.

This part of Alclphron was the occasion of a polemical criticism
by Dr. Peter Browne, who, when we last met him, was Provost of
Trinity College, Dublin, but who had now for many years been
Bishop of Co) k. Bishop Browne had indicated a peculiar opinion
about the nature of human theological knowledge, in his answer
to Toland, and afterwards, in 1728, in his Procedure and Limits
of Human Understanding. He had argued that the real attributes
of Deity are as unknown and incomprehensible as His essence
is ; that it is impossible for us to have direct conceptions of
Divine thoughts as they are in themselves. ' They can be known
by us,' he was wont to say, ' only in a secondary or analogical
signification of the terms employed to represent them.' This
analogical hypothesis of Browne is criticised in no flattering
terms by Berkeley in the dialogue. The criticism drew the Bishop
of Cork into the controversy. He explained and defended his
opinion, in a book entitled Things Divine and Supernatural con-
ceived by analogy "with Things Natural and Human ^ published about
a year after Alciphron. Nearly two hundred pages ^ are given
principally to an attack upon Berkeley. It will hardly be main-
tained now, either that Berkeley's humanizing of the Divine
Ideas, or Browne's attempt by what he calls analogy to express the
inexpressible, are satisfactory ways of meeting the question which
the further development of Berkeley's philosophy had brought him
in front of. And in Berkeley's comparison between our power of
seeing other men, and our alleged sensible sight of God, one misses
the moral depth and sublimity of the Deus absconditus of Pascal.

The Minute Philosopher is further interesting for the light it
throws upon Berkeley's reasons for accepting Christianity; and
also upon his thoughts about what the Christian mysteries actually
are. That there is no need to depart from the received rules of
reasoning in order to justify the belief of Christians, is his
favourite maxim. Probable or matter of fact evidence is with
Berkeley, as with Butler, a sufficient ground for Christian faith.
Demonstration is out of the question : he that will use his eyes
may see enough, he thinks, for the purposes either of nature or of

" Divine Analogy, ch. VIII. See also and of (he Minute Philosopher, by the
Letter to the Authors of the Divine Analogy, Rev. Philip Skelton — in Skelton's Works.

200 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

grace. '•And it will be sufficient/ he remarks (anticipating
Butler, whose Analogy followed four years after) — * it will be
sufficient if such analogy appears between the dispensations
of grace and nature, as may make it probable (although much
should be unaccountable in both) to suppose them derived from
the same author, and the workmanship of one and the same hand.'
This was the language of Anglican theology at that time, and
Berkeley's Alcifhron.^ though for very different qualities, is probably
entitled to as high a place as the Analogy of Butler, as one of
the two great English essays in philosophical theology. Those who
decline to rest their faith in Christianity, and in a theological ex-
planation of the universe, upon a practical instinct of probability,
similar to that from which we derive our assurance of the exist-
ence of sensible things, and of other human beings like ourselves,
must remember that this was the conception most in harmony
with the English thinking of that age. The claims of a spiritual
intuition of what is supernatural seem to have sustained Pascal in
the seventeenth century. They are now again pressed by some
whose moral and spiritual experience of religion seems to make
them indifferent to questions about its origin which refer us
to historical events in the sensible world. But they were hardly
recognised in the days of Berkeley and Butler. If they had been
brought to their notice, both these philosophical persons might
have allowed that their own point of view was one-sided and
defective.

The last dialogue in Alciphron is perhaps the most important of
all for understanding the history of Berkeley's mind in this part of
his life. It contains a defence of the possibility of the Christian
mysteries, in consistency with his own principles of human
knowledge. At first sight, his early polemic against abstractions
and scholasticism has a purely sensationalist tendency, unfavour-
able to the recognition of what is mysterious, either in nature
or in religion. If the material world is to be analysed into
a personal experience of sensations, because abstract Matter is
inconceivable, we are apt to ask whether, for a like reason, all
other inconceivables, along with the words by which men pretend
to represent them, should not be tested similarly. If the New
Principle reduces Matter, does it not also reduce every other
Mystery ?

VI.] Back to London. 201

Berkeley does not put this question to himself. But he unfolds
and applies a view of what human words may lawfully be employed
about which we find glimmering in the Frinciples of Hutnaji Know-
ledge. Words, he says, are not to be dismissed as necessarily
useless, when they do not stand for individual ideas of sense
or imagination — for sensations, or for images of sensations.
Language addresses itself to the Will as well as to the Under-
standing. Words have ' another use, besides that of marking and
suggesting distinct ideas, to wit, the influencing our conduct and
actions; which may be done either by forming rules for us to
act by, or by raising certain passions, dispositions, or emotions
in our minds. A discourse, therefore, that directs how to act, or
excites to the doing or forbearance of an action, may be useful and
significant, although the words whereof it is composed should not
bring each a distinct idea into our minds.' Oversight of this has,
he thinks, been the occasion of the whole scholastic heresy of
abstract ideas. We can form no abstract ideas of grace^ original
sin^ and the Trinity ^ any more than we can o^ force or number. But
then we may form many true and useful propositions about all of
them, fitted to affect our lives and actions. These appeal to the
practical reason which regulates the feelings and determinations,
not to the speculative intellect which requires particular and
distinct ideas.

Berkeley cannot be said to have gone to the bottom of this
matter. It is to be wished that he had explained more fully his dis-
tinction between ideas and notions^ and had given us a more satis-
factory account of the universalizing reason in man. But he in-
tended to recognise the utility and indispensableness of propositions
and processes of reasoning the terms of which are not concerned
with concrete phenomena of sense and sensuous imagination.
That there are such propositions in religion he allowed; but he
added, there are such also in science : they lie at the roots of both.
Men of science who complain of them in religion must meet the
retort that they are themselves all the time employing them in
their own deductions. Even the mathematicians are not exempt.
Berkeley had them in his eye, at this very point of view, when he
was writing his Trinciples of Human Knowledge more than twenty
years before'^. In Alciphron he speaks more plainly. 'Even the

" Cf. sect. 118, 119.

202 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

mathematical sciences themselves,' Euphranor is made to say 8,
< which above all others are reckoned the most clear and certain,
if they are considered, not as instruments to direct our practice,
but as speculations to employ our curiosity, will be found to fall
short, in many instances, of those clear and distinct ideas, which,
it seems, the Minute Philosophers of this age, whether knowingly
or ignorantly, expect or insist upon in the mysteries of religion.'
This sentence foreshadows a controversy which Berkeley com-
menced soon after Aldphron was published.

Berkeley's curiously reasoned defence of religion soon made
a noise in the literary world. The most original and ingenious
reasonings in the book were ill understood both by friends and
foes. Its graceful style, and fine current of imagination, were
acknowledged by all who were able to appreciate these qualities.
* I have not seen Dean Berkeley,' writes Gay the poet to Swift, on
the 19th of May, 1732, three or four months after Berkeley's
return from Rhode Island, and very soon after the publication
of Aldphron^ — ' I have not seen Dean Berkeley, but have read
his book, and like many parts of it- but in general think
with you, that it is too speculative, at least for me.' ' Though
I have room,' writes Bolingbroke, flippantly, on the i8th of July,
' I will not say one word to you about Berkeley's or Delany's ^
book. Some part of the former is hard to be understood ; none
of the latter is to be read. I propose, however, to reconcile you
to metaphysics, by showing how they may be employed against
metaphysicians ; and that whenever you do not understand them,
nobo(iy else does ; no, not those who write them 1°.' Warburton,
with homage to Berkeley as a man, assailed him as a philosopher;
Hoadly, in a remarkable letter to Lady Sundon, shows a more un-
friendly spirit ^^. A superficial attack attributed to Lord Hervey,
the ' Sporus' of Pope, was one of several ephemeral attacks to which
Aldphron was exposed in the course of this summer i^.

A more important criticism^ directed against the most original

* Aldphron, Dial. VII. sect. 17. '^ It is professedly a Letter from a Country

° Religion Examined with Catidour{l "J ^2), Clergytnati. In the Ada Erud. for 1737

by Patrick Delany, D.D. there is an analysis oi Alciphron, and before

1" See Swift's Correspondence. that it was translated into French. See

" See Hoadly's Life, prefixed to the folio Uhlii Sylloge Nova Epist. vol. IV. (lib. X.)

edition of his Works, p. li. pp. 226, 430, for an unfavourable reference.

VI.] Back to London. 203

part of Berkeley's new work, appeared later in the year. The 'Essay
towards a New Theory of Vision of i 709 was appended to Alciphron ,-
and the conception of a Visual Language was^ as I have said,
explained and applied in the fourth dialogue, in vindication of a
constant immediate Providence in the universe. One of the most
curious and beautiful of his speculations in this way challenged
criticism. On the 9th of September, 1732, an anonymous critical
Letter, republished in the first volume of this edition of Berkeley's
works, appeared in the London Daily Post Boy, This Letter
alone, among the criticisms which Alciphron gave rise to, moved
Berkeley to reply. We owe to it his Theory of Vision vindicated
and explained^ which appeared in January 1733. In this ingenious
tract, Berkeley re-states, not analytically as at first, but con-
structively, the (psychological) doctrine about the relations of
sight and touch which he had published nearly a quarter of a
century before — and this time without that reservation of
his conception of the metaphysical meaning of the sensible
world as a whole which had embarrassed his juvenile essay.
In fact, the Vindication contains the latest, and perhaps the
clearest, statement of the grounds on which Berkeley rested his
belief in the nature of the material world, in Supreme Mind as
its ultimate substance, and in supreme intending Will as the
ultimate cause of its changes. That this tract should have been
almost forgotten for more than a century, and omitted from all the
collected editions of Berkeley's works, is another illustration of his
paradoxical antagonism to the unspeculative generation in which
he lived. The blot in the tract is its tone of almost polemical
bitterness, directed especially against Shaftesbury, unusual with
Berkeley, though there are traces of it in Alciphron.

For twelve months after his return from Rhode Island, we can
follow Berkeley only in the writings which he was then publishing,
and in contemporary allusions to them. London seems to have
been his head quarters all that year. The following letters to
Thomas Prior, written in the spring of 1733, show a tendency
towards Dublin, and reveal some of his less important doings
and designs about this time : —

'204 Life and Letters of Berkeley, [ch.

Dear Tom,

I THANK you for the good account you sent me of the house, &c., in
Arbor HilPl I approve of that and the terms ; so you will fix the agree-
ment for this year to come (according to the tenor of your letter) with
IMr. Lesly, to whom my humble service. I remember one of that name,
a good sort of man, a class or two below me in the College. I am willing
to pay for the whole year commencing from the 25th instant; but cannot
take the furniture, &c., into my charge till I go over, which I truly pro-
pose to do as soon as my wife is able to travel. But, as I told you in
my last, my wife expects to be brought to bed in two months ; and
having had two miscarriages, one of which she was extremely ill of in
Rhode Island, she cannot venture to stir before she is delivered. This
circumstance, not foreseen, occasions an unexpected delay, putting off
to summer the journey I proposed to take in spring. Mr. Lesly,
therefore, or whoever is at present in it, may continue there gratis for
about three months to come.

I hope our affair with Partinton will be finished this term. We are
here on the eve of great events, to-morrow being the day appointed for
a pitched battle in the House of Commons. I hope to hear from you
speedily, particularly on the subject of my two last letters. I have no
objection to you setting the Deanery to Messrs. Skipton and Crook-
shanks for two years, as you propose, provided the security be good.
My wife gives her service to you ; and my son, who (I thank God) is
very well, desires me to send his love and service to Mr. Puddleya.
I am your affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.
Green-street, March 13, 1732 — 3.

London, March 27, 1733.
Dear Tom,

This comes to desire you'll exert yourself on a public account, which
you know is acting in your proper sphere. It has been represented
here, that in certain parts of the kingdom of Ireland, justice is much
obstructed for the want of justices of the peace, which is only to be
remedied by taking in dissenters. A great man hath spoke to me on
this point. I told him the view of this was plain ; and that, in order to
facilitate this view, I suspected the account was invented, for that I did

" In Dublin.

vl] Back to London. 205

not think it true. Depend upon it, better service cannot be done at
present than by putting this matter as soon as possible in a fair light, and
that supported by such proofs as may be convincing here. I therefore
recommend it to you to make the speediest and exactest inquiry that you
can into the truth of this fact ; the result whereof send to me. Send me
also the best estimate you can get of the number of papists, dissenters,
and churchmen, throughout the kingdom ; an estimate also of dissenters
considerable for rank, figure, and estate ; an estimate also of the papists
in Ulster. Be as clear in these points as you can ^^ When the above-
mentioned point was put to me, I said that in my apprehension there
was no such lack of justice or magistrates except in Kerry and Con-
naught, where the dissenters were not considerable enough to be of any
use in redressing the evil. Let me know particularly whether there be
any such want of justices of the peace in the county of Londonderry ; or
whether men are aggrieved there by being obliged to repair to them at
too great distances. The prime serjeant. Singleton, may probably be a
means of assisting you to get light in these particulars. The dispatch
you give this affair will be doing the best service to your country.
Enable me to clear up the truth, and to support it, by such reasons and
testimonies as may be felt or credited here. Facts I am myself too
much a stranger to, though I promise to make the best use I can of
those you furnish me with, towards taking off an impression which I fear
is already deep. If I succeed, I shall congratulate my being here at this
juncture. Yours,

G. BERKELEY.

Green-street, April 14, 1733.
Dear Tom,

I THANK you for your last, particularly for that part of it wherein you
promise the numbers of the justices of the peace, of the Papists also,
and of the Protestants, throughout the kingdom, taken out of proper
offices. I did not know such inventories had been taken by public
authority, and am glad to find it so. Your arguments for proving
Papists but three to one, I had before made use of; but some of the
premises are not clear to Englishmen. Nothing can do so well as the
estimate you speak of, to be taken from a public office ; which therefore
I impatiently expect.

1* This is a subject to which Berkeley also in his Charge to the clergy of the dio-
several times refers, in the following letters ; cese of Cloyne.

2o6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

As to the design I hinted, whether it is to be set on foot there or here
I cannot say. I hope it will take effect nowhere. It is yet a secret. I
may nevertheless discover something of it in a little time ; and you ma)'
then hear more.

The political state of things on this side the water I need say nothing
of. The public papers probably say too much ; though it cannot be
denied much may be said.

I would have Petit Rose's fine, and the deficiencies of the last pay-
ments of the Deanery farms, paid into Swift and Company to answer my
demand. As soon as this is done, pray let me know, that I may draw
accordingly.

I must desire you, in your next, to let me know what premium there
is for getting into the public fund, which allows five per cent, in Ireland ;
and whether a considerable sum might easily be purchased therein ?
Also, what is the present legal interest in Ireland.? and whether it be
easy to lay out money on a secure mortgage where the interest should
be punctually paid 1

I shall be also glad to hear a word about the law-suit. I am, dear
Tom, your affectionate humble servant.

G. BERKELEY.

My wife and child's service to you.

April 19, 1733.
Dear Tom,

Not finding Mr. Percival at home, I got his valet-de-chambre and
another Irish servant to witness to the letter of attorney ; which herewith
I send you back. You may farm the Deanery to the persons mentioned,
since you find their security to be good, for two years. I thank you for
your last advices, and the catalogue of justices particularly ; of all which
the proper use shall be made. The number of Protestants and Papists
throughout the kingdom, which in your last but one you said had been
lately and accurately taken by the collectors of hearth-money, you pro-
mised, but have omitted to send. I shall hope for it in your next. The
enclosed subpoena (as I take it to be) was left two days ago at my
lodging by an unknown person. As I am a stranger to what hath been
done or is doing in the suit with Partinton, I thought proper to transmit
it unto you ; who, upon perusal thereof, will know or take advice what is
to be done, without delay, to avoid further expense or trouble, which
may be incurred by neglect of this billet-doux. In your next let me

VI.] Back to London. 207

know your thoughts on this and the whole affair. My wife and child
give their service. We are all glad to hear of your welfare. I am, dear
Tom, yours sincerely,

GEOR. berkel]:y.

Dear Tom,

I LONG for the numeration of Protestant and Popish families, which
you tell me has been taken by the collectors. A certain person now
here hath represented the Papists as seven to one ; which, I have ven-
tured to affirm, is wide of the truth. What lights you gave me I have
imparted to those who will make the proper use of them. I do not find
that any thing was intended to be done by act of parliament here. As
to that, your information seems right. I hope they will be able to do
nothing anywhere.

I give my consent to your setting the Deanery for three years, and for
postponing the later payment to the first of July in consideration that it
will, as you say, produce punctual payment. As to a gardener, I do not
design to hire one into my service, but only employ him by the job.
Your letter of attorney I sent back to you, signed and witnessed, the
following post after I had received it.

The approaching Act at Oxford^* is much spoken of. The entertain-
ments of music, &c., in the theatre, will be the finest that ever were
known. For other public news, I reckon you know as much as your
affectionate humble servant,

GEOR. BERKELEY.

My wife sends her service. She is well for one in her circumstances ;
so is my little boy. Your letter came not to my hands before yesterday.
Let me hear if you know any fair man, of a clear estate, that wants two
or three thousand pounds at 5^ per cent, on mortgage.

Lo7idoti, May i, 1733.

After May we hardly see any more of Berkeley for the remainder
^^ '733* ^^ "^^y ii^fer that he continued in London. In the
end of May we know that he got the books for Yale College con-

*' Seeker received the degree of Doctor of reference to the amiable daughter-in-law

Laws at Oxford on the occasion here referred of the learned Dodwell, one of the three

to, when he preached his Act Sermon, on the celebrated beauties at the Public Act in

' Advantages of Academical Education.' In Oxford in 1 733.'

the Preface to Monck Berkeley, there is a

2o8 Life and Letiers of Berkeley. [ch.

signed to Captain Alden, master of the Dolphin, and that in
August he settled the deed of conveyance of the Whitehall farm.

On the 28th of September his second son George was born, in
Green-street, London — who alone of his children prolonged the
line to the third generation.

The London of 1732 and 1733 still contained some of his
old friends. Dr. Samuel Clarke, the former interlocutor in the
controversies of Leicester House, died the year after Berkeley's
departure to Rhode Island. The rectory of St. James'^ West-
minster, was now occupied by Seeker. Benson was still a
Prebendary of Durham and Chaplain to the King. Sherlock was
Master of the Temple and Bishop of Bangor, and Gibson, a great
theological light of that age, was Bishop of London. Clayton,
whom Berkeley left in London in 1728, and who there nego-
tiated some of his affairs during his absence, was now settled
in his bishopric at Killala, and Butler was in studious retirement
in his northern rectory. Of his early friends. Swift had quitted
England for ever, and Steele had followed Addison to the grave.
John Gay, the common friend of Berkeley and Pope, died in
December 1 732, and Arbuthnot was approaching his end at Hamp-
stead. But Pope was still at Twickenham, publishing his Essay on
Man, receiving visits from Bolingbroke, or visiting Lord Bathurst
at Cirencester Park.

During this, which turned out to be Berkeley's last visit to
London, there are sundry symptoms of his growing inclination for
a secluded life. Bishop Stock says that after his return from
Rhode Island ' the Queen often commanded his attendance to
discourse with him on what he had observed worthy of notice in
America.' If this means that he was now in the way of attending
much at Court, it is inconsistent with what he says himself in one
of the following letters. He was not, however, forgotten by the
Queen. When Hoadly, the Bishop of Salisbury, * who was no
friend,' condemned his philosophy, and proclaimed his Bermuda
project to be the reverie of a visionary, Berkeley's old ally
Sherlock, now one of the Queen's chaplains, carried a copy of
Alclphron to the palace, ' asking whether such a work could be the
production of a disordered understanding.' This, with the recol-
lection of the charm of his conversation, so influenced the Queen,
that when the rich Deanery of Down fell vacant, soon after his

VI.] Back to London. 209

return from America, he was at her desire nominated, and the
King's letter actually came over for his appointment. But his
friend Lord Burlington having neglected to announce the royal
intentions in proper time to the Duke of Dorset, the Lord-
Lieutenant, his Excellency was so offended at the disposal of the
richest Deanery in Ireland without his concurrence, that it was
thought right not to urge the matter further ^^.

In January 1734, Berkeley reappears, writing to his friend
Prior. The following interesting letters open a new vista in his
history. He was now nominated to the bishopric of Cloyne, in
succession to his college friend Dr. Edward Synge, and we have
soon to follow him to the remote region in Ireland which
was to be his home. The mild enthusiasm of Berkeley, and his
unfitness for political agency in the Irish Establishment, were
not likely to recommend him, under the rules by which its
patronage was then dispensed. But the friendship of the philo-
sophic Queen, and perhaps some regard to what was due after
the Bermuda disappointment, may explain the ministerial approval
of the unworldly social idealist and philosopher for the see of
Cloyne — where he shone as a star amid the comparative darkness
of the Irish Church in the eighteenth century. The letters also
reveal fresh endeavours in study, particularly in mathematics,
and intentioins to return to Ireland that were frustrated by ill
health :—

Green-sireet, London, Jan. 7, 1733 — 4*
Dear Tom,

I DID not intend you should have made the proposal to the B. of D.
[Bishop of Derry or of Dromore ?] ; but since you did, am well enough
pleased with his answer. Only I would have the matter understood as
proposed and transacted by yourself, without my privity, as indeed it
was. I had myself thought of a preferment, a sinecure in the North,
formerly possessed by old Charles Lesly. I took it to be the chan-
cellorship of Connor ^'^, and imagined it might have been in the gift of
the Crown ; but do now believe it to be that you mention, possessed by

'^ Richard Daniel seems to have been pre- and other theological and political tracts,

sented to the Deanery of Down in Feb. was at one time Chancellor of Connor, but

1732, and he held it till 1739. deprived at the Revolution. He died in

" Charles Leslie, the Non-juror, author of 1721.
A Short and Easy Method with the Deists,

VOL. IV. P

2IO Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Dr. Wetherby^*, and in the Bishop's disposal. I must desire that your
next step may be to inform yourself precisely what the Deanery and that
Chancellorship are- each at this present time actually set for; and not to
say a word of the notion I have conceived (which is indeed an hypo-
thetical one) to any mortal : but only, as soon as you have informed
yourself, to send me an account of the foresaid values.

My family are, I thank God, all well at present ; but it will be impos-
sible for us to travel before the spring. As to myself, by regular living,
and rising very early (which I find the best thing in the world), I am
very much mended ; insomuch, that though I cannot read, yet my
thoughts seem as distinct as ever. I do therefore, for amusement, pass
my early hours in thinking of certain mathematical matters, which may
possibly produce something.

I doubt not you have done as I advised in settling accounts with
M'Manus ; at least that you have his bonds till he pay what is due. You
say nothing of the law- suit ; I hope it is to surprise me in your next with
an account of its being finished.

Perhaps the house and garden on Montpelier-hilP^ may be got a good

pennyworth ; in which case, I should not be averse to buying it, as also

the furniture of the bed-chambers and kitchen, if they may be had cheap.

It is probable a tenement in so remote a part may be purchased at an

easy rate. I must, therefore, entreat you not to omit inquiring in the

properest manner about it, and sending me the result of your inquiry.

You'll be so good as to take care of the inclosed letter. My wife's and

son's services wait on you. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble

servant,

G. BERKELEY.

London, Jan. 15, 1733—4-
Dear Tom,

I RECEIVED last post your three letters together; for which advices
I give you thanks. I had at the same time two from Baron Wainwright^"
on the same account.

That, without my intermeddling, I may have the offer of somewhat, I
am apt to think, which may make me easy in point of situation and
income, though I question whether the dignity will much contribute to
make me so. Those who imagine (as you write) that I may pick and
choose, to be sure think that I have been making my court here all this

" Probably John Wetherby, D.D., then !» In Dublin.

Dean of Cashel and Archdeacon of Connor. ^o j^j^^ Wainwright, Baron of Exchequer

He died in 1736. in Ireland 1732 — 34.

VI.] Back to London. 211

time, and would never believe (what is most true), that I have not been
at the Court or at the Minister's but once these seven years. The care
of my health, and the love of retirement, have prevailed over whatsoever
ambition might have come to my share.

I approve of the proposal you make from Mr. Nichols for my con-
tinuing the tenement upon Arbor Hill '^^ at the same rent, till I go over
and can make a judgment thereupon. As soon as any thing is done
here, you shall be sure to hear from me ; and if any thing occurs there
(or even if there doth not), I should be glad to hear from you. We are
all well at your service. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble
servant,

G. BERKELEY.

It was something odd that yours of January ist should not come to
my hands till the 1 3th at night.

Pray send me as particular an account as you can get of the country,
the situation, the house, the circumstances of the bishopric of Cloyne ;
and let me know the charges of coming into a bishopric, i. e. the amount
of the fees and first-fruits. I remain, yours, &c.

Dear Tom,

Since my last I have kissed their Majesty's hands for the Bishopric of
Cloyne, having first received an account from the Duke of Newcastle's
office, setting forth that his Grace ^^ had laid before the King the Duke of
Dorset's recommendation, which was readily complied with by his
Majesty. The condition of my own health, and that of my family, will
not suffer me to travel in this season of the year. I must therefore
intreat you to take care of the fees and patent, which Mr. Delafoy tells
me will be perfected there in consequence of the King's warrant sent to
Mr. Cary. Let me know what the fees amount to. There is some
proper person who does business of that kind to whom you need only
pay the fees ; which I will draw for as soon as you let me know the sum.
I shall be glad to hear from you what particulars you can learn about
this Bishopric of Cloyne. I am obliged to conclude in haste, dear Tom,
your affectionate humble servant,

London, Jan. 19, 1733 — 4.

G. BERKELEY.

^* Cf. p. 201. announcing the appointment, is dated Jan.

^'^ Then one of the Secretaries of State. 19, 1734.
The King's Letter to the Duke of Dorset,

P 2

a 1 2 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Dear Tom,

On the sixth instant the Duke sent over his plan, wherein I was re-
commended to the Bishopric of Cloyne. On the fourteenth I received a
letter from the secretary's office, signifying his Majesty's having imme-
diately complied therewith, and containing the Duke of Newcastle's very
obliging compliments thereupon. In all this I was nothing surprised;
his Grace the Lord Lieutenant having declared, on this side the water,
that he intended to serve me the first opportunity, though at the same
time he desired me to say nothing of it. As to the A. B. D. ^^ I readily
believe he gave no opposition. He knew it would be to no purpose ;
and the Queen herself had expressly enjoined him not to oppose me.
This I certainly knew when the A. B. was here, though I never saw him.
Notwithstanding all which I had a strong penchant to be Dean of
Dromore, and not to take the charge of a Bishopric upon me. Those
who formerly opposed my being Dean of Down, have thereby made me
a Bishop ; which rank, how desirable soever it may seem, I had before
absolutely determined to keep out of.

The situation of my own and my family's health will not suffer me to
think of travelling before April. However, as on that side it may be
thought proper that I should vacate the Deanery of Derry, I am ready,
as soon as I hear the Bishopric of Cloyne is void, by Dr. Synge's being
legally possessed of the See of Ferns, to send over a resignation of my
Deanery; and I authorize you to signify as much where you think
proper. I should be glad you sent me a rude plan of the house from
Bishop Synge's description, that I may forecast the furniture. The great
man whom you mention as my opponent concerted his measures but ill ;
for it appears by your letter, that at the very time when my brother^'* in-
formed the Speaker of his soliciting against me there, the Duke's plan
had already taken place here, and the resolution was passed in my favour
at St. James's. I am nevertheless pleased, as it gave me an opportunity
of being obliged to the Speaker, which I shall not fail to acknowledge
when I see him, which will probably be very soon, for he is expected
here as soon as the Session is up. My family are well, though I myself
have gotten a cold this sharp foggy weather, having been obliged, con-
trary to my wonted custom, to be much abroad paying compliments and
returning visits. We are all at your service; and I remain, dear Tom,
yours affectionately,

GEOR. BERKELEY.
London^ Jan. 22, 1733 — 4.

'^ John Hoadly, D.D., Archbishop of succeeded to the Primacy.
PubHn, from 1730 till 1742, when he -* Probably Robert.

vl] Back to London. i\%

London, Jan. 28, 1733 — 4.
Dear Tom,

In a late letter you told me the Bishopric of Cloyne is let for 1,200 pounds
per annum, out of which there is a small rent-charge of interest to be
paid. I am informed by a letter of yours which I received this day, that
there is also a domain of 800 acres adjoining to the episcopal house.
I desire to be informed by your next whether these 800 acres are under-^
stood to be over and above the 1,200 pounds per aniiiim, and whether
they were kept by former bishops in their own hands ?

In my last, I mentioned to you the impossibility of my going to Ireland
before spring, and that I would send a resignation of my Deanery, if
need was, immediately upon the vacancy of the See of Cloyne. I have
been since told that this would be a step of some hazard, viz. in case of
the King's death, which I hope is far off. However, one would not care
to do a thing which may seem incautious and imprudent in the eye of
the world ; not but that I would rather do it than be obliged to go over
at this season. But, as the bulk of the Deanery is in tithes, and a very
inconsiderable part in land, the damage to my successor Would be but a
trifle upon my keeping it to the end of March. I would know what you
advise on this matter.

My wife and children are, I thank God, all well at present, and join in
service to you. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

Not long since I sent you inclosed a letter for my brother Robin*
which I desired you to deliver to him. It contained a bill of forty
pounds upon Swift and Company, to be received and disposed of by him.
But as you make no mention of this letter, and I have had no account of
its coming to hand, I begin to apprehend it might have miscarried ; in
which case I desire you to inquire at Swift's, &c.,to give warning. Pray
let me hear next post.

Dear Tom,
This comes to tell you that I have been for several days laid up with
the gout. When 1 last wrote to you I was confined ; but at first knew
not whether it might not be a sprain or hurt from the shoe : but it soon
shewed itself a genuine fit of the gout in both my feet, by the pain, in-
flammation, swelling, &c., attended with a fever and restless nights. With
my feet lapp'd up in flannels, and raised on a cushion, I receive the visits
of my friends, who congratulate me on this occasion as much as on my
preferment.

214 Zx/^ and Letters of Berkeley. [cM,

As to Bishop Synge's furniture, we shall be able to judge upon seeing
it, which will be as soon as possible. His stock and his overseer will,
I think, suit my purpose, especially if I keep the lands in my own
hands ; concerning which I would know your opinion ; as also, whether
that domain be reckoned in the income of 1,200 pounds per annum. I
conclude with my wife and son's compliments to you. Dear Tom, your
affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY,

London, Feb, 7, 1733 — 4-

London, Feb. 19, 1734.
Dear Tom,

Now I have been confined three weeks by gout, an unusual length for
the first fit ; but my friends and physician think it will be of so much
the more service to me in carrying off the dregs of my long indisposition,
and clearing my head. I have had it successively in my feet, head,
stomach, and one knee. It is now got into my feet again, but is com-
paratively very gentle. I hope to get soon abroad : but I shall have
some business to do beside the taking leave of my friends, and preparing
things for my departure for Ireland; where, I am sure, I long to be
more than any one there can long to see me. I must, however, neither
hurt my health, after the tenderness of a long confinement, nor neglect
things absolutely necessary. And to make people concerned as easy as
I am able, I by this post send inclosed to Baron Wainwright a formal
resignation of my Deanery. Yours,

GEOR. BERKELEY.

London, Feb. 23, 1733 — 4.
Dear Tom,

In a late letter, you told me that the wardenship of Tuam, to which
I had no title, was inserted in my patent ^^. But some time since I re-
ceived a letter from one Mr. Rugge^", a class-fellow of mine in the College,
dated from Youghall, of which town he tells me I am Warden. Now, it
comes into my head that there may be a mistake in the patent of Tuam
for Youghall, which mistake may deprive me of a considerable part of the

'^^ The ' Provostship of Tuam' — not in 1699, became Recorder of Youghall, and

Youghall — is mentioned by mistake in the represented that town in Parliament from

King's Letter, as to be held in commendam 1 72 1 to 1731.' (Brady's Records, vol. II.

with the See of Cloyne. p. 169.)

^*' Henry Rugge, born 1682, entered S. CD.

VI.] Back to London. 215

Bishop*s income. I must therefore desire you to look into the patent in
order to clear up this point, and let me know how to rectify it. Bishop
Synge (from whom I have not yet heard) and Mr. Lingen can tell how
this matter stands, and what is to be done. Pray send me the favour of
a line by next post on this head.

I have not yet received M'Manus's account for the last year of his
farming ; so I cannot justly say, but I expected a much greater balance
in his hands than 50 pounds. You perceive, by the 20 pounds over-
charged for the widows, how requisite it is that his accounts be sharply
looked after, especially in the great article of paying the curates, con-
cerning which I already wrote you my thoughts. As I confide that affair
to your care, I trust you will look sharp, and not suffer me to be imposed
on. I need not mention that no deductions are to be made by Mr.
Skipton for cures, since, in pursuance to your letter, I agreed they should
be paid out of the profits of the foregoing year. Pray, in your next, let
me know when I may expect Mr. Skipton's payments, that I may order
my affairs accordingly ; and whether my brother be gone to Cloyne. I
have sent a resignation of the Deanery to Baron Wainwright, witnessed
by Dr. King, and in full form. I hope to get abroad in two days, and to
be able to put on my gouty shoes. My family is well, and give their
service. Yours,

G. BERKELEY.

London, March 2, 1734.
Dear Tom,

As to what you write of the prospect of new vacancies, and your
■advising that I should apply for a better bishoprick, I thank you for your
advice. But, if it pleased God the Bishop of Derry were actually dead,
and there were ever so many promotions thereupon, I would not apply,
or so much as open my mouth to any one friend to make an interest
for getting any of them. To be so very hasty for a removal, even
before I had seen Cloyne, would argue a greater greediness for lucre
than I hope I shall ever have. Not but that, all things considered, I
have a fair demand upon the Government for expense of time and pains
and money, on the faith of public charters : as Ukewise because I find
the income of Cloyne considerably less than was at first represented. 1
had no notion that I should, over and above the charge of patents and
first fruits, be obliged to pay between £400 and £500, for which I shall
never see a farthing in return ; besides interest I am to pay for upwards
of =£300, which principal devolves upon my successor. No more was I

2l6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cii.

apprized of three curates, viz. two at Youghal and one at Aghada, to be
paid by me. And, after all, the certain value of the income I have not
yet learned. My predecessor writes that he doth not know the true
value himself, but beheves it may be about £1200 per annum, including
the fines, and striking them at a medium for seven years. The uncer-
tainty, I believe, must proceed from the fines ; but it may be supposed
that he knows exactly what the rents are, and what the tithes, and what
the payments to the curates ; of which particulars you may probably get
an account from him. Sure I am, that if I had gone to Derry, and
taken my affairs into my own hands, I might have made considerably
above £1000 a year, after paying the curates' salaries. And as for
charities, such as school-boys, widows, &c., those ought not to be reck-
oned, because all sorts of charities, as well as contingent expenses, must
be much higher on a bishop than a dean. But in all appearance, sub-
ducting the money that T must advance, and all expense of the curates
in Youghal and Aghada, I shall not have remaining £1000 per ann. ;
not even though the whole income was worth £1200, of which I doubt,
by Bishop Synge's uncertainty, that it will be found to fall short. I
thank you for the information you gave me of a house to be hired in
Stephen's Green. I should like the Green very well for situation : but
I have no thoughts of taking a house in town suddenly ; nor would it be
convenient for my affairs so to do, considering the great expense I must
be at on coming into a small bishoprick. My gout has left me. I have
nevertheless a weakness remaining in my feet, and, what is worse, an
extreme tenderness, the effect of my long confinement. I was abroad
the beginning of this week to take a little air in the park, which gave me
a cold, and obliged me to physic and two or three days' confinement.
I have several things to prepare in order to my journey, and shall
make all the dispatch I can. But why I should endanger my health by
too much hurry, or why I should precipitate myself, in this convalescent
state, into doubtful weather and cold lodgings on the road, I do not see.
There is but one reason that I can comprehend why the great men there
should be so urgent ; viz. for fear that I should make an interest here in
case of vacancies ; which I have already assured you I do not intend to
do ; so they may be perfectly easy on that score. I am, dear Tom, your
affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

Lo7tdoti, Alarch 9, 1733 — 4.
Dear Tom,

I THINK what my brother and you write about the impropriety and

VI.] Back to London, 1 1 7

uselessness of his going now to Cloyne very reasonable, and must intreat
you to give him the inclosed letter with your own hands. I have not yet
seen Mr. Roberts, but am willing to do all the service I can in relation
to the affair you mention ; though I apprehend I am not likely to do
much, for two reasons : first, because I can hardly stir abroad without
catching cold, such is my tenderness after so long confinement ; secondly ^
because I apprehend there will be council heard, which makes it a
judicial case, in which there is no room for favour. I shall, however,
endeavour to speak for it in the best manner I can to the Lord Chan-
cellor, Lord President, Lord Chief Justice, and to the Master of the
Rolls "; which four I take to be persons of the most weight, at least that
I know, in the Privy Council. I shall attempt to find them at home ;
though in this busy time it is very difficult to come at them there : and
as for going to the Parliament House in my present condition, I should
run too great a risk to think of it. On Monday I shall have a useful
servant, whom I shall employ in hastening things for my departure as
soon as possible ; for I sincerely long to be with you. My wife's service
and mine. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

Dear Tom,

I RECEIVED your letter, containing M'Manus's account for the last
year. I have not leisure to examine it at present; but, at first sight, it
strikes me that he charges 20 pounds where he should have charged but
ten, /. e. to the clergymen's widows. You'll inquire how this comes to
pass.

I am bond fide making all the haste I can. My library is to be em-
barked on board the first ship bound to Cork, of which I am in daily
expectation. I suppose it will be no difficult matter tO obtain an order
from the commissioners to the custom-house officers there to let it pass
duty-free, which, at first word, was granted here on my coming from
America. I wish you would mention this, with my respects, to Dr. Cog-
hill ^^. After my journey, I trust that I shall find my health much better,
though at present I am obliged to guard against the east wind, with
which we have been annoyed of late, and which never fails to disorder
my head. I am in hopes, however, by what I hear, that I shall be able
to reach Dublin before my Lord-Lieutenant leaves it. I shall reckon it

"" Lord Talbot was then Lord Chancellor ; ^' Dr.MarmadiikeCoghillJudgeof thePre-
Lord Wilmington, Lord President; Sir Philip rogative Court of Ireland. See Mant's J^/s/ory
Yorke, Chief Justice ; and Sir John Jekyll, of the Church of Ireland, vol. IL p. 409.
Master of the Rolls.

2i8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cii.

my misfortune if I do not. I am sure it shall not be for want of doing
all that lies in my power. I am in a hurry. I am obliged to manage
my health, and I have many things to do.

I must desire you, at your leisure, to look out a lodging for us, to be
taken only by the week ; for I shall stay no longer in Dublin than needs
must. I shall want three beds for men-servants, one bed for maid-
servants, two convenient bed-chambers, a dining-room and parlour,
utensils for the kitchen and table ; for though I believe my wife and I
shall dine seldom at home, yet my family must. I imagine the house in
St. Mary's parish, where I first lodged in my solitude, when I was last in
Dublin ^', might do, if it might be had. There was only a woman and a
maid in it ; and I should be glad to have as few of the people in the
house as may be. Baron Wainwright 1 should like to be near ; but in
Stephen's Green I should not like to be. But, if the aforesaid conve-
niences are not easily to be had in William-street, you may probably find
them on the other side the water without difficulty ; and a coach soon
carries me wherever I have a mind to visit. I would have the lodging
taken for the lOth of April. But say nothing of this providing a lodg-
ing, nor of the time, except to my brother, who perhaps may be helpful
in looking out for it.

You may remember that, upon my being made Dean of Derry, I paid
the curates for the current year. The reason assigned why I should do
this, will hold good for my successor, viz. because I was to have the
whole tithes of the year. Pray be mindful of this. I am, dear Tom,
your affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

London, March 17, 1733 — 4.

You will also remember to take bonds for the money, to be reimbursed
for the Deanery-house.

Dear Tom,

Last post I received one from you, wherein you mention orders sent
to clear the curates till the 5th instant. I hope you will recollect, and
see that I am done by as I myself did by my predecessor on first coming
into the Deanery. The same reason that was then assigned for my
paying the curates for the year, though I came in so late as May, will
surely hold for my successor's doing the same thing.

Your account of my income I should be glad to find true. It widely

=" Was this in 1728?

VI.] Back to London. 219

differs from what Bishop Synge writes ; and both of your accounts differ
from my brother's. I would fain know what I might depend on. There
may be some uncertainty in the fines or tythes ; but the rents regularly
and annually paid must surely be known to the bishop. By this post
I inform Bishop Synge of my design to employ the person recommended
by him. As for the distance, I shall know by experience how far that is
inconvenient. I wish you could get money from Skipton to make up
what was wanting in your hands towards paying for the patents ; for I
have largely drawn of late, and shall draw again before I set out, on
Swift and Company ; so that there will be little left in their hands. I
shall have time to receive another letter from you before I leave this.

The agent you mentioned for the bill against the heirs of Burton and
Harrison never came to me to state the case ; so I have little to say : and
by what 1 find, it is to no purpose, for the bill is not likely to pass. I
reasoned as well as I could on the little and wrong lights which I had
with my Lord President ; but I found by him, that the Committee of
Council have weighty reasons against passing it. I spoke also to another
privy counsellor, but I doubt to no effect. There will be pleadings
probably, as well as petitions, on both sides, which must determine, and
in the mean time procrastinate, the fate of this bill.

There is one Mr. Cox^" a clergyman, son to the late Dr. Cox near
Drogheda, who I understand is under the patronage of Dr. Coghill.
Pray inform yourself of his character, whether he be a good man, one of
parts and learning, and how he is provided for. This you may possibly
do without my being named. Perhaps my brother may know something
of him. I would be glad to be apprized of his character on my coming
to DubUn. No one has recommended him to me ; but his father was an
ipgenious man, and I saw two sensible women, his sisters, at Rhode
Island, which inclines me to think him a man of merit, and such only I
would prefer. I have had certain persons recommended to me ; but I
shall consider their merits preferably to all recommendation. If you can
answer for the ingenuity, learning, and good qualities of the person you
mentioned, preferably to that of others in competition, I should be very
glad to serve him.

I must put you in mind of what I mentioned long since, viz. getting
Dr. Helsham's ^^ note for 200 pounds under my hand, which I allowed to
you, and you had allowed to Bishop Synge, who paid that sum out of

"^ This was the Rev. Marmaduke Cox September 1736, and held various livings in

(son of Dr. Cox, Vicar of St. Peter's, that diocese till his death in 1762. See

Drogheda, and Dean of Ferns, from 1694 Brady's Records, vol. II. p. 147.

to 1 719). who was licensed to the curacy '' Professor of Natural Philosophy in

of Inniscarra, in the diocese of Cloyne, in Trinity College, Dublin.

220: Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

my money long ago. You promised when you were here to see it can-
celled, but I suppose you might have forgot it. I think the more of it at
present, because I have, for want of exactness, paid the sum of sixteen
pounds twice over ; and a burnt child, you know, dreads the fire. My
wife makes you her compliments. I am, dear Tom, yours affectionately,

G. BERKELEY.
March 20, 1733—4.

London, April 2, 1734.
Dear Tom,

The other day Mr. Roberts called at my lodging ; where, not meeting
with myself, he left your letter, a full month after its date. I wish I had
seen him, to have known more particulars of the case; though, on
second thoughts, I imagine it was not Heedful, for all these points will be
opened by lawyers before the Attorney-General and before the Committee
of Council. I have, in compliance with your desire, talked of this affair
with the Lord President, Lord Chancellor, and INIaster of the Rolls ; to
all whom I recommended it, as far as was decent to recommend a judicial
affair wherein private property is concerned. I spoke also to one or
two more of the privy council; all the members whereof I thought
equally judges of the bill. But I find that the committee for Irish bills
consists only of the Lords of the Cabinet and the Law Lords of the
Council. I tried to find my Lord Hardwicke, the Chief Justice of the
King's Bench, and shall try again. To-morrow I propose to speak on
the same subject to the Duke of Newcastle. I am in no small hurry,
have many things to do, and many things to think of; but would not
neglect or omit to throw in my mite towards forwarding an affair which
you represent to be of national concern.

I hear of a ship going to Cork, on board of which I design to have
my things embarked next week. But it will be impossible for me to go
till after Easter ; and if it was possible, would not be decent. I propose,
therefore, without fail, to set out from hence either on the Tuesday or at
farthest on the Wednesday after Easter-day ; and if the lodging in Dub-
lin be secured against that day se'ennight it will be time enough. We
would either have a furnished house to ourselves by the week, or else a
house with as few inhabitants as may be. I wrote to my brother Robin
last week ; which letter I directed to the College. Let him know this
when you see him. I thank you for thinking of my library's passing
easily through the custom-house. It is to be sent to Messrs. Harper and
Morris, as Bishop Synge directed ; who, I hope, hath apprised them of

VI.] Back to London. 221

it, and recommended it to their care, I shall have occasion to draw for
about a hundred pounds. I hope you'll urge Mr. Skipton to be early in
his payment. My wife and son give their service to you. I am, dear
Tom, your affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

London, April 16, 1734.
Dear Tom,

Last Friday evening I saw Mr. Roberts for the first time. He told
me he apprehended opposition from Lord Hardwicke. Next day I
attempted to find my Lord, but could not. This day I saw his Lordship,
but to no purpose ; for he told me the affair of the Banker's bill was
finished last night. I then said nothing, but only asked him how it had
gone. He told me they had made Harrison's estate liable to one moiety
of the demands on the Bank, and that this was just : so the bill is passed,
but with alteration ; yet such as it is hoped will not defeat the intention
of it. It is very late; and I have time only to add, that I am your
affectionate humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

I thought I should have set out to-morrow ; but it is impossible before
Monday. You shall soon hear again from me. My wife and son make
their compliments.

With Cloyne thus in view, he was not withdrawn from study.
Amidst the hurry of preparations for his journey to Ireland, he
wrote the following letter (of some philosophical interest) to his
friend Johnson at Stratford : —

London, April ^, i734-
Reverend Sir,

Your ordering matters so that every year one Scholar of the House
be chosen, is quite agreeable to my intentions. As to lending out the
books of your library, I think there should be made some public statute
by the proper authority, which same authority may alter it, if it prove
upon trial to be so inconvenient. But this rests on the trustees or
governors of the College. My private opinion is, that you may, for the
present, lend out books to any persons residing in the Colony, who have
studied either in that or any other College, but always under the caution
mentioned in my former letter — upon forfeiture whereof the book is to
be returned within a limited time.

2 22 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

As to the Bishop of Cork's book^^ and the other book you allude to,
the author whereof is one Baxter ^^, they are both very Uttle read or con-
sidered here ; for which reason I have taken no public notice of them.
To answer objections already answered, and repeat the same things,
is a needless as well as disagreeable task. Nor should I have taken
notice of that Letter about Vision ^^ had it not been printed in a news-
paper which gave it course, and spread it through the kingdom. Beside,
the Theory of Vision I found was somewhat obscure to most people ;
for which reason I was not displeased at an opportunity to explain it.

Of late I have been laid up with the gout, which hath hindered me
hitherto from going to Ireland to be consecrated Bishop of Cloyne, to
which his IMajesty nominated me near three months ago.

The hurry I am now in, providing for my journey to Ireland, doth
not allow me time to add any more than my service and best wishes to
yourself, Mr. Williams, Mr. Elliot, &c.

I am. Rev. Sir,

Your faithful humble servant,

G. BERKELEY.

When you write next, direct for me at Cloyne in Ireland.

The polemic of Andrew Baxter, in his Inquiry^ was the earliest
criticism' of considerable size which Berkeley's account of the
nature of the material world had encountered, although it had
then been published for more than twenty years. Its comparative
bulk, however, is almost the only circumstance which entitles
Baxter's work, on this subject, to consideration. Warburton's
extravagant ^loge upon the author is qualified by Stewart, but the
i ngenuity and acuteness which Stewart claims for some of Baxter's
observations on Berkeley must also be taken with reserve. At the
best he is ingenious and acute in the construction of a ' man of
straw,' whose defeat requires only a small share of those qualities.

^ Bishop Browne's Divine Analogy. As and shewn inconclusive.' The date of the

already mentioned, this book was published first edition of Baxter's Inquiry has hitherto

in the beginning of 1 733; and the eighth puzzled the historians of philosophy. It was

chapter contains the defence of his doctrine published anonymously, by subscription, and

against the objections of Berkeley. obviously some time before this letter was

^^ Andrew Baxter, a Scotchman, born at written. The second edition appeared in

Old Aberdeen, about 1687, and author of 1737- Baxter died in 1750.

an Inquiry into the Nature of the Human ^ The letter in the Daily Post Boy of

iSo?/Z, one section in which is entitled ' Dean 9th September, 1732. See Berkeley's

Berkeley's Scheme against the Existence of Works, vol. I. p. 401.
Matter and a Material World, examined

VI.] Back to London. 223

He deals with the object of his attack as a sceptic ; and treats his
' scheme' as ' a complication of all the species of scepticism that
have ever yet been broached.' With this view he plays upon the
unfortunate word ' idea,' the chief source of all the misrepresenta-
tion of which Berkeley has been the subject. Assuming, as he
does, that Berkeley identifies the real ideas of sense with the
illusions of imagination, he is of course easily able to show that
a sensible world of this sort is inconsistent with the knowledge
which regulates our actions, and that it convicts the Author of our
intellectual and practical faculties of deception. Sensible things,
in the language of Berkeley, are composed of ideas or sensations^ by
means of notions of the mind. In our experience we find that they
fluctuate as our sensations fluctuate; but, apart from this, the
possibility of sensible, or any other, actual existence, in the case of
an absolute extinction of all thinking and feeling. Divine and
finite, is inconceivable. Baxter never looks at the question from
this point of view. He does not see that real ideas of sense may
be, although ideas, hard and extended. His most ingenious argu-
ment for the existence of a material world is founded upon the
opposite assumption; it fails accordingly to prove that matter
exists in any other sense than that which Berkeley would allow ^•^.
Baxter's examination of Berkeley is interesting chiefly as evi-
dence that the new conception of the nature and powers of the
material world was beginning to engage Scotch metaphysical
intellect, which soon after was more profoundly moved by it.
Berkeley, through Baxter, Hume, and Reid, first awakened
reflection in Scotland. Perhaps he is destined now to revive it,
and to recal it to what is real, when it is wasting among con-
troversial abstractions ; or to what is spiritual, when it is inclined
to an exclusive devotion to external observation and physical
science. Nor was Baxter's book the first symptom of an influence
which Berkeley seems to have exerted in Scotland earlier and
more distinctly than in England. Stewart refers to what must

^ ' If our ideas,' says Baxter, ' have no tain that something exists without the mind,

parts, and yet if we perceive parts, it is We are certain of this from consciousness

plain we perceive something more than our itself; since we are as conscious that we

own perceptions. But both these are cer- perceive parts as that we have perceptions

tain ; we are conscious that we perceive at all. And this argument proves at once,

parts, when we look upon a house, a tree, and from the same perceptions, the exist-

a river, the dial-plate of a clock or watch. ence of both the parts of our composition.

This is a short and easy way of being cer- {Inquiry, vol. II. p. 337-)

2 24 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

have occurred, I think, before the publication even of the first
edition of Baxter's Inquiry^ when he says^*^ that 'the novelty of
his [Berkeley's] paradoxes attracted very powerfully the attention
of a set of young men who were then prosecuting their studies
at Edinburgh, and who formed themselves into a Society for the
express purpose of soliciting from the author an explanation of
some parts of his theory which seemed to them obscurely and
equivocally expressed. To this correspondence the amiable and
excellent prelate appears to have given every encouragement; and
I have been told by the best authority, that he was accustomed to
say that his reasonings had been nowhere better understood than
by this club of young Scotsmen ^7.'

This spring of 1734 involved Berkeley in a controversy, as in-
tended by him with the Free-thinkers, but which became in the
end a controversy with the Mathematicians. His College Common-
place Book shows that his thoughts had been long working in this
direction. He had partly followed out the relation of his New
Principle to mathematical science and to space, when it was first
announced by him in 1710; afterwards, more distinctly, in the
I>e Motu and in Alciphron. Baxter, in his Inquiry^ among his other
objections to the new conception of matter and space, alleged
that it forced the author ' to suspect that even mathematics may not
be very sound knowledge at the bottom.' Stock says that Addison
was connected with this crusade against the mathematicians,
for that he had told Berkeley that Garth, in his last illness,
was impervious to the consideration of Christianity, on the
ground that Dr. Halley, that great mathematician and dealer in
demonstration, had convinced him that the Christian religion must
be an imposture, because its doctrines were incomprehensible 3^.
This story as told is not a very likely one. Garth died in January

^ Dissertation, Part II. sect. 4. bers of Mankind, and the Rev. Dr. Steven-

^ I have failed to find any documentary son, Professor of Logic and Metaphysics in

record of this interesting incident. The the University of Edinburgh, were among

Royal Society of Edinburgh is, however, the leading members. They were young

said to have taken its rise in the Society men, prosecuting their studies in Edinburgh,

referred to, which was called the /2ara^enfa« about 1720 — 24, when Berkeley was in

Cluh. Nor have I been able to determine London and in Dublin, after his return from

the exact date of this club, and of the corre- Italy. Perhaps the Society to which Mr.

spondence which the members are said to Stewart refers was making its inquiries

have held with Berkeley. The Rev. Dr. about that time.
Wallace, author of a Discourse on the Nttm- '^* See also Spence's Anecdotes, p. 140.

VI.] Back to London. 225

1719, and Addison in the following June. Berkeley was then in
Italy, and there is no evidence that he was in correspondence with
Addison. But however this may be, his thoughts, during this spring
in London, were employed about a form of religious scepticism,
said to prevail among mathematicians, which was founded on the
existence of incomprehensibilities in religion. In January 1734,
he told Prior, that though he could not read, yet his thoughts seemed
as distinct as ever ; and that therefore, ' for amusement,' he passed
his early hours ' in thinking of certain mathematical matters
which might possibly produce something.' The result was the
Analyst^ which appeared in March, on the eve of his departure
to Ireland.

The general aim of the Analyst^ apart from the involved
mathematical details, is clear enough. It is an argumentum ad
hominem. Similar reasoning is to be found in the last dialogue
of Alciphrottj where it is argued that signs may have another
use than that of marking and suggesting ideas : without sig-
nifying ideas, they may form rules for us to act by. At the
root of all knowledge concerned with ideas, there are practical
principles, he thinks, which cannot be analysed into ideas, and
are in that sense incomprehensible. It is unreasonable to insist
on resolving them into ideas. In this respect religion and science
are upon the same footing. Force is as incomprehensible as grace.
Both have a practical meaning; but we can have no ideas, in sense
or in imagination, of what either force or grace means. So too
with the mathematicians. They object to receive religion, because
its rudimentary principles cannot be presented and represented in
sensations and sense images. Now, the very same thing is found,
he tries to show, in mathematics; especially in the new and
admired doctrine of fluxions. Its elementary principles do not
admit of being reduced into either sensations or images. Fluxions
are regulative and not speculative, as the first principles of religion
are. In this congenial field, Berkeley shows his characteristic
subtlety. He boldly challenges the leaders of mathematical
analysis; proves that modern analysts are obliged, even in their
demonstrations, to assume what they cannot resolve into finite
sensibles ; and concludes that reasoners who can accept mysteries,
and even what seem to be contradictions, in their own province,
are inconsistent in rejecting religion, merely because it makes

VOL. IV. Q

2 26 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

a similar demand upon them. All knowledge, physical, mathe-
matical, and theological, is thus, with him, in the last analysis,
practical art rather than speculative science.

It must be allowed, I think, that Berkeley's natural ardour, and
inclination to push any conception which he accepts to extremes,
has led him in the Analyst to a position where he is at any rate
very apt to be misunderstood. Not contented with pressing the
incomprehensibility, on a sensationalist basis, of the principles of
mathematics, and especially of fluxions, he alleges fallacies in the
new science of Newton. He speaks as if fluxions involved abso-
lute contradictions as well as relative incomprehensibility j and
mathematicians complain that he is blind to the Newtonian
conception of continuity, confounding it with the monadism of
Leibnitz. But it is to be remembered that he is arguing with
persons who are supposed to assume that all signs should signify
what is capable of resolution into a sensationalist meaning, and
who reject the mysteries of religion, on the ground that they are not
open to this analysis, but involve us in contradictions when we
attempt so to analyse them. He probably regarded the Newtonian
conception of continuity as open to the same objection; as in-
capable of reduction into ideas of sense and imagination, and as
involving us in contradictions when we treat it as if it could.
If this was his thought, his language is sometimes unguarded.
Carnot and Lagrange, Euler and D'Alembert, have since tried by
various expedients to resolve diflRculties in the calculus similar to
some of those which Berkeley first brought to light •^^.

The mathematicians, as we shall see, did not long leave the
Analyst untouched.

In the meantime, Berkeley made his escape to his new bishopric
in Ireland. The following letter to Prior shows that in the end of
April, after repeated postponements, he was at last on the road : —

Dear Tom, ^^- '^^^''"''' ^P'''^ 30, 1734-

I WAS deceived by the assurance given me of two ships going for

Cork. In the event, one could not take in my goods, and the other

took freight for another port. So that, after all their delays and

3^ Kant's criticism of Space was partly geometry, and mechanics. But Berkeley
founded on the need for showing the pos- had not learned to look at the question
sibility of pure mathematics — arithmetic, from this point of view.

VI.] yoiirney to Dublin. 227

prevarications, I have been obliged to ship off my things for Dublin on
board of Captain Leech. From this involuntary cause, I have been
detained here so long beyond my intentions, which really were to have
got to Dublin before the Parliament, which now I much question whether
I shall be able to do ; considering that, as I have two young children*" with
me, I cannot make such dispatch on the road as otherwise I might.

I hope Skipton's first payment hath been made ; so that you have
got the money you returned, and that the rest is lodged with Swift and
Company to answer my draughts ; otherwise I have overdrawn.

The lodging in Gervais-street*\ which you formerly procured for me,
will, I think, do very well. I shall want, beside the conveniences I before
mentioned, a private stable for six coach-horses; for so many I bring
with me. I shall hope for a letter from you at the post-office in Chester,
giving an account of the lodging, where and what it is, &c. My wife
thinks that on breaking up of the Duke's kitchen, one of his under-cooks
may be got; and that a man-cook would be a great convenience to us.
If you can procure a sober young man, who is a good cook, and under-
stands pickling and preserving, at a reasonable price, we shall be much
obliged. The landlady of the lodging must, in your agreement, be
obliged to furnish linen and necessaries for the table, as also to dress
our meat. This is to be included in the price that we pay by the week
for the lodgings. In your last, you mentioned black cattle and sheep
of Bishop Synge's''^, which I am resolved to purchase, and had long ago
signified the same to my brother, if I remember rightly. If I meet
with a good ship at Chester, I propose going from thence. As for
sending a ship, I doubt this will not come time enough; and write
sooner I could not, because of my uncertain situation. However, you
can tell what passage-ships are on this side the water, and what is
proper to be done. If a ship be sent, you will take care it is the
best can be got. I have a coach and six to embark. We propose
being at Chester on Saturday evening. I write this on Tuesday
morning from St. Alban's. We are on the point of taking coach. So
with my little family's compliments and my own, I remain your af-
fectionate humble servant,

GEORGE BERKELEY.

I hope to find a letter at the post-office in Chester, informing where
the lodging is taken.

A few days after this letter was written at St. Alban's, Berkeley
left England. He did not see it again for nearly twenty years

■"* Henry and George. " In Dublin. ^'^ His predecessor at Cloyne.

CHAPTER VII.

FIRST YEARS IN THE IRISH DIOCESE.
1734—1739-

On Sunday the 19th of May, 1734, Berkeley was consecrated to
the bishopric of Cloyne, in St. Paul's Church, Dublin, by Dr.Theo-
philus Bolton, Archbishop of Cashel, assisted by Dr. Nicholas
Forster, Bishop of Raphoe, and Dr. Charles Carr, Bishop of Killaloe.
The old church which witnessed the consecration service has
since been removed, to make way for the unadorned modern
structure which now occupies its place in North King Street.

Berkeley was now once more in his native country, in circum-
stances for concentrating his intellectual powers and benevolent
sympathies to the advantage of his countrymen. We have not
followed him to Ireland since he left it in September 1724, the
newly-appointed Dean of Derry, on his way to London, impatient
to resign his deanery in the service of America.

His stay in Dublin, in the ' lodging in Gervais Street,' on the
north side of the Liffey, in this month of May 1734, was probably
short. In his letter to Prior he had desired the lodging to be
taken ' only by the week ; for I shall stay no longer in Dublin
than needs must-' and Stock says that 'immediately after his
consecration he repaired to his manse-house at Cloyne.' He
wished when in Dublin to be 'near Baron Wainwright,' and alluded
to his 'brother Robin,' perhaps then living in College 1. Thomas
Prior seems to have been in Dublin at the time, and Bishop
Forster, who had presented him for holy orders, a quarter of a
century before, in the old College Chapel, was one of those who

^ His brother Robert was married in 1734, in Dublin.

First Years in the Irish Diocese. 229

now assisted at his consecration in St. Paul's. Swift, whose letter
to Lord Carteret records Berkeley's departure from Dublin in 1724,
was still in his old quarters at St. Patrick's.

On a day in the early summer of 1734, Berkeley, with his
wife and two infant boys, and their considerable retinue, might
have been seen wending their way over the rough roads which
then connected the county of Cork, and its secluded Diocese
of Cloyne, with the Irish metropolis. Cloyne is more than a
hundred and fifty miles from Dublin. The most direct road in
those days was through Kilkenny; and thus Berkeley, a wanderer
among many men and cities, after years of ingenious thought and
holy aspiration, may have been brought again for at least a passing
hour within sight of the ' famous school' of Kilkenny, the old
Castle of the Ormonds, and the banks of the Nore. We have
no record of visits to them since he matriculated at Dublin, and
curiously none of his remaining writings contain any reference,
except the most incidental, to his native county.

Before autumn set in, he was settled in his ' manse-house ' at
Cloyne, ' continuing his studies,' Stock says, ' with unabated at-
tention,' and applying a fresh and original mind to the discharge
of episcopal duties. He was accustomed to rise early in his new
home; his mornings were given to study, in company with Plato
and Hooker. The Cloyne life seems soon to have become a very
sedentary one ; partly perhaps from habits of study formed in
Rhode Island, and partly from indifferent health. His health was
broken before he left London. He had over-studied, we may
suppose ; and that too in the anxious crisis of his life : he now
looked with hope to a quiet life in his Irish Diocese.

The region in which he came to live was in harmony with
these growing inclinations. The eastern and northern parts of
the County of Cork formed his Diocese. It was bounded on the
west by Cork harbour and the river Lee; on the east by the
beautiful Blackwater and the mountains of Waterford ; while
the hills of Limerick protected it on the north, and the ocean
formed its southern boundary, approaching within three miles of
the little town of Cloyne. At that time the Diocese contained
forty-four churches, and about fourteen thousand Protestants. The
Roman Catholic churches were almost twice as many, with a
population of more than eighty thousand. The Cathedral and the

230 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Bishop's residence were in the village of Cloyne, in the barony
of Imokilly.

This barony, as a glance at the map shows, is a compact
territory, apart from the great currents of life, about twenty miles
in length, from Cork harbour to the mouth of the Blackwater at
Youghall, and extending inwards about twelve miles from the
ocean. Except on its north side, Imokilly is surrounded by the
ocean or its estuaries. The interior consists of two nearly parallel
limestone valleys, extending from west to east, and separated from
one another by a low range of hills, partly cultivated, but on which
few trees could then be seen. Imokilly was then, as it still is, a
fertile region. Its two valleys were well planted, and contained a
number of gentlemen's seats. In the northern vale were Midleton,
now a considerable town, and Castlemartyr, the residence of the
Shannon family of Boyles. The southern valley, about six miles in
length, from Aghada and Cork harbour eastward to Ballycottin Bay,
contained Rostellan, the ancient seat of the lords of Inchiquin,
with its charming demesne, washed by the waters of the harbour-
and, next to Rostellan eastward, Castle Mary, the abode of the
Longfields. A mile further on in the valley stood the Cathedral
and See-house of Cloyne, with their dependent village, contain-
ing perhaps fifteen hundred souls, and the Round Tower, still a
conspicuous landmark in all the surrounding country. Eastward
of Cloyne was Ballymaloe Castle, then the seat of the Lumleys,
and the lands of Shanagary, which touch the spacious expanse of
Ballycottin Bay. In more distant times the Fitzgeralds were
seneschals of Imokilly, and reigned supreme in both its valleys.

Cloyne itself, which consists of four streets meeting in the
centre of the little town, is situated on a gentle partly wooded
elevation, in the centre of the valley, not three miles east of Cork
harbour. It is of great antiquity. Tradition says that the Cathe-
dral was founded by St. Colman in the sixth century, and the
picturesque Round Tower is probably nearly as old as the Cathe-
dral. The bishops of Cloyne originally lived in an old castle,
which was at an angle of the four cross ways in the centre of
the town. The last bishop who occupied the castle was Dr. St.
George Ashe, who was translated to Clogher in 1697. The See-
house in which Berkeley lived was built a few years after this, by
Bishop Pooley.

VII.] First Vcars in the Irish Diocese. 231

Cloyne and its surroundings are described, as they appeared
in 1796, by Bishop Bennet, one of Berkeley's successors, in a letter
to Dr. Parr-. 'You ask me,' he says, 'to explain, at length, the
particulars of my situation at Cloyne. This place, which is a
dirty Irish village, lies in a valley that seems evidently to have
been formed in some distant age by the waters of Cork harbour in
their way to the sea ; a branch of that harbour still reaching a con-
siderable way up the S.W. part of it, and the bay of Ballycottin
encroaching on it towards the N.E. On every other part extends
a chain of hills, well cultivated but without trees. In the middle
of the valley, about three miles from the harbour and as much
from the sea, rises a small insulated hill, or rather hillock, on
which lies the village, church, and house ; and as this spot has
a few tolerable trees about it, and is ornamented by a fine Round
Tower, I do not wonder that an Irishman coming from Dublin,
through a naked country for a hundred and fifty miles, should
think it a beautiful spot, or that an Englishman landing in Cork
harbour, and comparing it with his own rich and well-dressed
vallies, should wonder at Berkeley's liking it. The church is large,
but not handsome, with one bell only^ a very good organ, and its
proper appurtenances of vicars choral, and singing boys. The
Episcopal House is at the east end of the village, a large irregular
building, having been altered and improved by different Bishops,
but altogether a comfortable and handsome residence ; the side
next the village has a very close screen of shrubs and trees, and
the three other sides look to a large garden and farm of four
-hundred acres. I keep about fifty acres, enough to supply my

^ Parr's Worlts, vol. VII. pp. io6 — 109. Clo3'ne. The bishopric, at a distance from

Dr. Bennet was Bishcp of Cloyne from Dublin, and an appendage to the See of

1794 to 1820. He was an Englishman, Cork and Ross, with which it was once

educated at Harrow and Cambridge. He and again united, was long the prey of the

was translated to Cloyne from the See of neighbouring magnates, especially the Fitz-

Cork and Ross Parr was his schoolfellow geralds. Some of the demesne lands of

at Harrow, and had a great regard for this which Cloyne was deprived at the Reforma-

accomplished prelate, with whom he long tion were recovered afterwards, but when

maintained a close correspondence. Some of Berkeley was there it was still one of the

Bennet 's letters are published in Parr's works. poorer bishoprics of Ireland, and accordingly

' Sweet,' writes Parr, ' is the refreshment its bishops held Youghal and Aghada in

afforded to my soul by the remembrance covimetidam. The increase of the ecclesi-

of such a scholar, such a man, and such a astical rents later in the century made it

friend as Dr. William Bennet, Bishop of much more valuable, and in Bishop Bcnnet's

Cloyne.' Much interesting information time the endowment of Cloyne was esti-

about the bishopric of Cloyne is contained mated at about £5000 a year.
in his MSS., preserved in the registry of .

232 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH.

stable with hay, and my dairy with milk, in my own hands ; and
these fifty acres compose three fields immediately contiguous to the
house. The garden is large, four acres, consisting of four quarters,
full of fruits, particularly strawberries and raspberries, which it was
soon found his lordship had a predilection for; and separated^ as
well as surrounded by shrubberies, which contain some pretty
winding walks, and one large one of nearly a quarter of a mile
long, adorned for a great part of its length by a hedge of myrtles
six feet high, planted by Berkeley's own hand, and which had each
of them a large ball of tar put to their roots ^ : the evidence of this
fact is beyond contradiction. At the end of the garden is what
we call the Rock Shrubbery, a walk leading under young trees,
among sequestered crags of limestone, which hang many feet above
our heads, and ending at the mouth of a Cave of unknown length
and depth— branching to a great distance under the earth, sancti-
fied by a thousand wild traditions, and which, I have no doubt,
sheltered the first wild inhabitants of the town in its gloomy wind-
ing : and gave rise at last to the town itself, cluatn being the Irish
name for a cave or place of retirement. Caves were, you know,
till lately, places of retreat in the Scotch islands, to which the
natives fled in the time of invasion; they were the fortresses
of the first savages, and gave birth naturally to towns in their
neighbourhood, as the Roman camps and Saxon castles did in
England at a later period. I have enclosed this place, which
is a favourite spot of mine, with a low wall, enlarged its limits,
and planted it with shrubs which grow in this southern part of
Ireland (where frost is unknown) to a luxuriance of which the tall
myrtles I have mentioned may give you some idea.

* On Sunday the gates are thrown open, that my Catholic neigh-
bours may indulge themselves with a walk to the Cave^. On all
other days of the week no one ventures to intrude upon my retire-
ment, not even the Prebendary in residence : —

' In May of this year (1S70), I saw the case. Bishop Stopford, in 1754, raised the

last remaining myrtle ; but not ' the ball present front attics, and Berkeley, who kept

of tar.' much company, lived principally in the

* The Cave of Cloyne is still a summer rooms on the ground floor, near the garden,

resort, and can be explored in dry weather. The walk to the Cave and the Rock Shrub-

The See House has undergone many changes bery, with its ancient elms, is said to have

since Berkeley lived in it. The oldest part been a favourite resort of Berkeley for medi-

is the lower S. and W. front, looking into tation and study.
the g-irden, which contains the great stair-

VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 233

" pavet ipse sacerdos
Accessuin, Doniinunique timet deprendere luci."

At least SO 1 found the rule established j but, as I hate the inso-
lence of wealth, I have been employing the carpenters some time
past in making that sort of gate which cannot be left open for
cattle, or shut against man.

' Of Berkeley little is remembered ^^ though his benevolence,
I have no doubt, was very widely diffused. He made no improve-
ment to the House, yet the part of it he inhabited wanted it much,
for it is now thought only good enough for the upper servants.
I wish he had planted instead of building — if, indeed, he built
anything, for I cannot find any tradition of it. Crowe, one of his
predecessors, and Johnson, one of his successors, appear to have
contributed most to the comfort of the place j but had there been
a venerable oak or two nursed by the care of this excellent man,
with how much respect should I have rested under its branches :
and in no spot of earth do trees grow with more vigour. There is
no chapel in the house j but a private door from the garden leads
to the Cathedral. The bell is in the Round Tower, the gift of
Davies, Dean of Ross.

'I have thus, I think, run through everything relative to the
situation of Cloyne. The neighbourhood is good ; the barony of
Imokilly, which surrounds it, particularly fertile. Two lords are
near me. Shannon and Longueville, hostile to each other, but vying
in civility to me. The common people getting rich, from the
money spent by the large detachments of the army and navy occa-
sionally detained in Cork harbour ; and giving any price for fresh
provisions. Protestants, comparatively, none. We are twenty
English miles from Cork, which lies much further from its own
harbour than we do. On the whole, if you survey this place with
an English eye, you would find little to commend ; but with an
Irish one nothing to blame.'

Altogether Cloyne was, and is, a place for a recluse, in which a
philosopher might bury himself in his thoughts, and among his

' Still less is remembered now. A recluse I could find only a faint local tradition even

student, of cosmopolitan aspirations, Berke- of the tar water, during a recent visit to

ley seems to have left no deep local mark. Cloyne. It is strange that the Cathedral

Notwithstanding the efforts of my friend should contain no memorial of the greatest

Mr. Creed, who now occupies the See-house, name associated with it.

2 34

Life and Lettei^s of Bei^keley,

[CH.

books — shut off by its geographical position from all the great
centres, and reserved for meditative quiet, with its spacious garden,
and silent, green, undulating country. Here, with his increasing
disinclination to travel, Berkeley was almost as much removed
from former friends as he had been at his farm in Rhode Island.
The city of Cork took the place of Newport, but Cork was twenty
miles from Cloyne, while Newport was only three miles from
Whitehall. His first episcopal neighbour at Cork was Dr. Peter
Browne, his old Provost at Trinity College, and more recently the
assailant of Akiphron. If they had inclination, they had little
opportunity either for continued controversy, or for neighbourly
intercourse. Browne died about twelve months after Berkeley was
settled in Cloyne ^ He was succeeded by Clayton, Berkeley's
College friend and correspondent, who was brought from Killala to
Cork, and was his neighbour there till he removed to Clogher in
1745. Though no trace of such intercourse has been found, we
may suppose that Clayton and Berkeley sometimes exchanged visits
or letters. The country seats in the two valleys of Imokilly, we

^ Bishop Browne died at Cork, on the
25th of August 1735. and was buried in the
little chapel at Balliiiaspic, near Cork, where
he had built a pleasant retreat for study.
Here probably his Procedure, and his Divine
Analogy were meditated. This summer
(l8jo) I saw his portrait in the Palace of
Cork. Through the kindness of Richard
Caulfield, E^q., LL.D., of Cork, I have before
me a manuscript catalogue of his library,
written by his own hand — a small quarto,
bound in vellum, labelled on the back,
' Catalogue of Books belonging to Peter,
Lord Bishop of Corke.' I he library con-
tained a considerable store of early ecclesi-
astical literature. He left behind him in
manusciipt a second volume of the Divine
Analogy, and other writings, theological and
metaphysical. His Sermons were published
in 742, in two vols.

We have few details of the life of this
philosophical bishop, but his mortal part was
seen again only a few years ago, nearly a
hundred and thirty years after his death, by
my friend Dr. Caulfield. A report, it seems,
was in circulation, that the vault at Ballin-
aspic had been desecrated, and the remains
of Bishop Browne stolen. To vindicate his
countrymen from the charge. Dr. Caulfield
made an examination on Jan. 12, 1 86 1.
After three hours' work the labourers
reached the flag that closed the entrance

to the vault. The lead coffin, after all,
had never been disturbed. I give his own
words — ' On the lid, embedded in the de-
ca3ed timber, we found the plate, which
required the greatest care to touch, as it was
quite corroded, and not much thicker than
a sheet of paper. This we succeeded in
raising. It was originally square, and in
the centre was an oval with a bead pattern,
within which were the letters " P. C. & R.
1735." As the lid of this coffin had never
been soldered, and had yielded a little to the
weight of the decayed timber that lay on it,
it was found necessary to take it off, when
all that was mortal of Bishop Browne pre-
sented itself. There was no appearance of
an inner shell. The body was placed in the
lead, enveloped in folds of linen, which was
not in the slightest degree discoloured. The
body was nearly entire, from the middle
up ; so perfect were the features that any
one who had seen his portrait at the Palace
of Cork would readily have detected the
resemblance. The coffin was 5 feet 8
inches long.' After an investigation which
occupied more than an hour, the lid was
replaced, and the entrance closed up. The
remains of Bishop Browne were afterwards
removed for re-interment beneath the new
Cathedral Church of St. Finbarre. at Cork,
where they now rest, for ever out of the
reach of human eye.

VII.] First Yeai's in the Irish Diocese. 235

gather from incidental allusions, soon supplied local visitors and
resorts. Among the clergy, Isaac Gervais, one of the neighbouring
prebendaries of Lismore, soon appeared as a correspondent, and
often came to enliven the family circle at Cloyne. The annual
visits of Thomas Prior, and his continued correspondence, main-
tained that early friendship to the end.

We have few remains of Berkeley's own letters during his
first year in his Diocese. But here is one written to him by his
friend Seeker, the new Bishop of Bristol", which contains some
interesting allusions, and comes first in chronological order among
the remains of the Cloyne correspondence : —

My dear Lord,

I RETURN you my heartiest thanks for your very friendly congratula-
tions : and we are all very happy that you consider us in the view of
neighbours ; for that relation gives us an undoubted right to a visit
from you immediately upon our arrival at Bristol. And I take it Master
Harry's obligations in point of gallantry to make Miss Talbot* that
compliment are quite indispensable. Then from Bristol we will beg
leave to wait upon you to the palace of my good lord of Gloucester^,
who indeed, to do him justice, bears with tolerable composure his being
restrained from the pleasures of street walking ; but all his honours avail
him not, so long as Dicky Dalton continues to beat him at chess. But
perhaps, my lord, before the time comes of receiving a visit from you,
we may send an old acquaintance to pay you one. For I take it for
granted Dr. Rundle^" will now be made an Irish bishop, and probably of
Derry, unless it can be filled up in such a manner as to vacate some
good deanery for him here, which I believe he would rather chuse. His
health is much better than it was, and this new prospect seems to have

^ Berkeley Papers. Seeker was nominated with Whiston and Clarke in their endea-

to the bishopric of Bristol in December, 1734- vours to promote what they called Primitive

" Miss Catherine Talbot. This accom- Christianity, and became subject to a charge

plished lady, grand-daughter of Bishop Tal- of Deism. The interposition of Gibson,

bot, lived in Seeker's family for many years. Bishop of London, stopped his preferment to

The above is the only reference by name to the bishopric of Gloucester (which Benson

the son Henry in any of the correspondence. was with difficulty induced to accept), and

^ Benson was made Bishop of Gloucester a paper war broke out. Rundle was, how-

in 17.34, and occupied that See till his death ever, considered good enough for an Irish

in 175^' See. He is described as a man of warm

'" Rundle was appointed to the bishopric fancy, and brilliant conversation, apt to be

of Derry in I'J^-,. He was early patronized carried by his wit into indiscreet expressions.

by Talbot, Bishop of Durham, having been. As a bishop, however, he conciliated general

like Seeker and Butler, a cdllcge friend of good-will in his remote diocese, where he

young Talbot. Rundle was also connected died in 1743.

236 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

done him great service. The pamphlet war about him is not quite
extinguished, but the attention of the world is almost entirely turned
from it to other matters. The parliament hath done nothing yet be-
sides giving each side an opportunity of shewing their numbers, which
are sufficiently in favour of the court. The Queen is perfectly well
again, and Sir R. Walpole's unseasonable gout is going off. It con-
tinues doubtful whether any petition will be brought in against the Scotch
peers. And it does not appear that we shall have any Church work
this session. Dr. Waterland was chosen prolocutor last week, but
declines it, upon which Dr. Lisle, archdeacon of Canterbury, was chosen
yesterday. There hath lately been a proposal made by the Bishop of
London" for reprinting by subscription the most considerable tracts
against popery that were written in and about King James the Second's
time, I think in two folios. Whether such a work would meet with any
number ef subscribers in Ireland I know not. Your friend, Mr. Pope,
is publishing small poems every now and then, full of much wit and not
a httle keenness ^'^. Our common friend. Dr. Butler, hath almost com-
pleted a set of speculations upon the credibility of religion from its
analogy to the constitution and course of nature, which I believe in due
time you will read with pleasure ^^. And now, my good lord, give me
leave to ask what are you doing ? As you seem to write with cheerful-
ness, and make no complaints of your health, we are wiUing to believe
the best of it. And your diocese, we hope, cannot but leave you some
intervals of leisure which you must allow the friends of religion and
virtue to promise themselves publick advantages from.

My whole family desire to joyn their sincere assurances of the greatest
respect and friendship to you and good Mrs. Berkeley, and their com-
pliments to the young gentlemen, with those of,

My Lord,
Your Lordship's most affectionate brother
and most obedient servant,

THO. BRISTOL.
Feb. I, 1734—5-

'^ Bifhop Gibson, who soon after carried this 1 736. He was then rector of Stanhope, and

proposal into execution, in his well-known a prebendary of Rochester, by the patronage

■^ox\L,\\\t Preservative againU Popery, \i\i\Qh of Lord Chancellor Talbot, to whom the

appeared in 1738. Analogy is dedicated. He was made Bishop

'^ It was a few years after this that of Bristol in 1 738, and translated to Durham

Pope's famous eulogistic line on Berkeley in 1750. The Analogy of Bishop Butler

was published, in the Epilogue to the Satires. has nothing but the name in common with

" Butler's Analogy appeared in June the Analogy of Bishop Browne.

VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 237

The following letter from Benson, the new Bishop of Gloucester,
also preserved in the Berkeley Papers, was received at Cloyne in
May :—

St. James Street, May 13, 1735.
My dear Lord,

I WRiTBf to you immediately upon the receipt of yours, as I can give
you the answer you wish to the chief part of your letter, that the person
you mention is not to come over with the Bishop of Derry [Rundle], and
he is determined to bring no chaplain over with him. There is a cousin-
german of his, who has a small living here, whom he thinks himself
obliged to provide for, but he does not carry him over with him. If
A. [.?], Bishop Goodwin's son, shall take orders, he will, I believe, think
himself obliged to take him for his chaplain preferably to any other
in Ireland; but he tells me he goes over determined to prefer those
educated in the countrey, with regard only to their merit and learning.

I heartily wish you joy of the birth of your son^^; this is one of the
greatest blessings Providence can send you, and you are so wise and
happy as to understand the value of it. I hope I may by this time
give you and Mrs. Berkeley joy on her entire recovery, and may God
grant you both life and health to give your boys what is better than
all the wealth which you or all the world can give them, a religious and
good educadon.

I beg you to write a line to the Baron ^^ and acquaint him with what
I acquainted you at the beginning of my letter. I wish we had the
Baron in our own Court of Exchequer, more for the clergy's than for
his own sake. The clergy have been used extremely ill in that Court,
and their only hope was in an appeal to the House of Lords. But the
House on Monday was se'nnight passed such a decree upon an appeal
in relation to modus, that all their hopes are gone there, and they
have great reason to fear that the consequences of this decree will be
very fatal. The clergyman who brought the appeal was a distinguished
Tory, and he thought, I believe, he should find favour, and all thought
at least he would have common justice from that quarter. But several

'* A third son was born in April, and Bishop of Cloyne, was buried i6th day of

taken away in October, 1735. This appears October 1735.'

from the following entries which I found in *' Probably Baron Wainwright. The case

the registry of Cloyne : — referred to in what follows was apparently

'Baptised 1735, llth day of April, John that in which the dean and chapter of

Berkeley, son to George, Lord Bishop of Norwich appeared, in an appeal to the

Cloyne. H. Wainwright, Captain Maule, House of Lords in regard to the payment of

godfathers ; Mrs. Margaret Longfield, god- tithes by the occupiers of demesne lands,

mother.' Modus is composition for tithes in kind.

' John Berkeley, son of George, Lord

238 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

lords of that party appear'd in a cause in which I am not sure if any
one even of the Scotch lords would appear. The case was exceedingly
clear ; but it was given out that the consequences of this case would
affect every man that had an estate, and that it was time to put a stop
to the growing wealth of the clergy. My Lord Chancellor and the
Bishops of London and Salisbury spoke on one side, and Lord Bathurst
and Lord Onslow on the other. Lord Hardwicke, unfortunately, was
obliged to attend a cause at Guildhall that day. When the House came
to divide, fifteen of the lords present had the modesty to retire to the
throne, and not vote at all, but enough staid to make a majority, and
the bishops had only the Chancellor and the Duke of Bedford with them.
This affair makes a great deal of noise, as it affects the rights of all
the parochial clergy, and as the injustice of the case is very notorious —
the most notorious, perhaps, of any that has been decided for a hundred
years past in the House of Lords. But Lord Bathurst did not seem
to think that enough, but talked a great deal, tho' quite forein to the
purpose, about the clergy having raised their fines. I am sorry I have
not a more agreeable subject to write to you upon; but, as it is at
present the chief subject of discourse, at least among the clergy here,
I have made it the greatest part of my letter. I have only room to
add many services from the Bishop of Bristol [Seeker] and his family
to you and yours. My sister has been very ill, but is now better. —
I am, my dear Lord, your most affectionate faithful servant and brother,

M. GLOCESTER.

The following letter i*', from Gibson, Bishop of London, reminds
us of the Analyst.^ and refers to the controversy of which it was
the occasion : —

Fulham, July 9, 1735.
My Lord,

I HAVE now before me a letter from your Lordship of so old a date
that I know not how to excuse the lateness of this answer, unless you
will make allowance for the hurry of our winter campaign, and my re-
moving hither, and my holding a Visitation in part of the months of
May and June.

What your Lordship observes is very true, and appears to be so in
experience here, that the men of science (a conceited generation) are the
greatest sticklers against revealed religion, and have been very open in
their attacks upon it. And we are much obliged to your Lordship for

1* Berlieley Papers.

VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 239

retorting their arguments upon them, and finding them work in their
own quarters, and must depend upon you to go on to humble them, if
they do not yet find themselves sufficiently humbled.

If there be a prospect of bringing the Irish to come to our churches,
in case the Liturgy were read to them in their own language, the rest of
your scheme will bear no deliberation ; nor are the abilities of the per-
sons ordained deacons for that purpose to be regarded, so long as they
are sober and virtuous. My great doubt is, whether the priests, by terror and
persuasion, have not such influence upon the lower people, for whose
sake chiefly it is intended, as to hinder them from joining in a Protestant
service. And though it might prove so at last, I can see no inconveni-
ence in making the experiment. But your Lordship and the Bench of
Bishops there must be far better judges of what is prudent and practic-
able than we can be.

It is taken for granted here, that our Dissenters will bring their Bill
for repealing the Test Act next winter, and that whether the Court
encourage them or not. It is probable that they rely upon promises
which have been made by candidates in the late elections, to secure the
dissenting interest in cities and boroughs ; but I cannot think that all
these promises will be remembered if the Court should oppose it, nor
that the Court will wantonly divest itself at once of the whole Church
interest.

I find that a new Lord-Lieutenant has been talked of on that side the
water, but on this side we hear nothing of it. And I have reason to
believe, from a circumstance that happened to come lately to ni}' know-
ledge, that my Lord-Lieutenant himself does not think of it at present.

I am, my Lord,
Your Lordship's very faithful servant and brother,

EDM. LONDON.

The Analyst had given rise to a controversy which has left its
mark in the history of mathematics^ if not of theology. Dr. Jurin,
under the name of ' Philalethes Cantabrigiensis/ was the first to
reply, in his Geometry no Friend to Infidelity ^ to Berkeley's analogical
reasoning, and argumentum ad homhiem. Berkeley rejoined in a
Defence of Free-thinking in Mathematics.^ which appeared early in
1735, and must have employed some of his studious hours during
his first winter at Cloyne. Dr. Jurin parried the blow in the same
year, in his Free Thinker no Just Thinker. While Berkeley was thus
engaged with Jurin, he had also to meet an attack by Walton,

240 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

a Dublin mathematician and professor, to whom he replied in
an appendix to his Defence against Jurin, and afterwards in a
combination of reasoning and sarcasm, called Reasons for not
replying to Mr. Walton's Full Answer^ in which he affects to treat
his opponent as a disguised convert. This 'Analyst Controversy,'
in which Berkeley was thus engaged in his first year or two at
Cloyne^ was afterwards prolonged by the mathematicians among
themselves. It engaged Pemberton and Benjamin Robins, as well
as Jurin. The world owes one of the best productions of Colin
M'Laurin, the Edinburgh mathematical professor, to the Analyst^
which was the occasion besides of more than twenty controversial
tracts and pamphlets''^.

Berkeley did not forget his friends on the other side of the
Atlantic, in his episcopal seclusion in Ireland. Here is a letter,
characteristically full of queries, addressed to Mr. Smibert, at
Boston'^ : —

Cloyne, '^isi 0/ May, 1735.
Dear Mr. Smibert,

A GREAT variety and hurry of affairs, joined with ill state of health,
hath deprived me of the pleasure of corresponding with you for this
good while past, and indeed I am very sensible that the task of answering
a letter is so disagreeable to you, that you can well dispense with re-
ceiving one of mere compliment, or which doth not bring something
pertinent and useful. You are the proper judge whether the following
suggestions may be so or no. I do not pretend to give advice ; I only
offer a few hints for your own reflection.

What if there be in my neighbourhood a great trading city .-' What if
this city be four times as populous as Boston, and a hundred times as
rich .? What if there be more faces to paint, and better pay for
painting, and yet nobody to paint them .'' Whether it would be dis-
agreeable to you to receive gold instead of paper ? Whether it might be
worth your while to embark with your busts, your prints, your drawings,
and once more cross the Atlantic ? Whether you might not find full
business at Cork, and live there much cheaper than in London ?
Whether all these things put together might not be worth a serious

^^ See the annotations in my edition of the Benjamin Robins, which contains a ' Dis-

Analyst, and the Defence. In addition to the course on the Methods of Fluxions.*

list of works mentioned there, there is a ^^ Preserved in the Gent. Mag.
volume of Mathematical Tracts (1761), by

VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 241

thought ? I have one more question to ask, and that is, whether myrtles
grow in or near Boston, without pots, stones, or greenhouses, in the
open air ? I assure you they do in my garden. So much for the
climate. Think of what hath been said, and God direct you for the
best. I am, good Mr. Smibert,

Your affectionate humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.

A few days later, what follows was written to Johnson, at
Stratford : —

Cloyne, June 11, 1735.
Reverend Sir,

It is very agreeable to find that the public examinations appointed in
your College have not failed of their design in encouraging the studies
of the youth educated therein. And I am particularly pleased that they
have given to some of your own family an opportunity of distinguishing
themselves. One principal end proposed by me was to promote a better
understanding with the Dissenters, and so by degrees to lessen their
dislike to our communion; to which methought the improving their
minds with liberal studies might greatly conduce, as I am very sensible
that your own discreet behaviour and manner of living towards them
hath very much forwarded the same effect. The employing young men,
though not in orders, to read a sermon, and some part of the Liturgy,
in those places where they are unprovided with churches and ministers,
I always thought a reasonable and useful institution ; and though some
among you were prejudiced against it, yet I doubt not their prejudices
will wear off when they see the good effects of it. I should imagine it
might be some encouragement to well disposed students to reflect that
by employing themselves in that manner they not only do useful service
to the Church, but also thereby recommend themselves in the properest
manner to Holy Orders, and consequently to missions, whenever vacan-
cies shall make way for them, or when the Society shall be enabled to
found new ones.

My wife is obliged to you for your kind remembrance, and sends her
compliments to you. Our little family is increased to three boys, whereof
the two eldest past the small pox last winter.

I wish you and yours all happiness, and pray God to forward your
good endeavours for the advancement of true religion and learning,
being very truly. Reverend Sir,

Your faithful brother and humble servant,

GEORGE CLOYNE.

VOL. IV. R

242 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

When any from your College have encouragement to pass over to
England, in expectation of Holy Orders and a mission, I would have
them, now I am absent myself, to apply to Dr. Benson, the Bishop of
Gloucester, as they were used to do to me. He is a most worthy
prelate, and attends the meetings of the Society; and in my present
situation I cannot do better service, than by recommending your can-
didates to his protection.

The social condition of Ireland, especially of the aboriginal
population, began to engage Berkeley's thoughts as soon as he was
settled in Cloyne. The condition of modern society had long
been in his mind. The South Sea disasters, fifteen years before,
moved him then to address his countrymen on this subject. It was
at the bottom of his American enthusiasm, which was sustained by
the desire to advance the colonial, and also the native Indian
population of the western hemisphere. And now in Ireland he
had before him a large native Irish population, and a small one of
English colonists, unconnected with the other by common national
or church sympathies, and in which the natives, long governed in
the interest of the stranger, had become unable to govern them-
selves. The industry and self-reliance which he had preached as
the ' means for preventing the ruin of Great Britain ' were a thou-
sandfold more needed in Ireland, where this gospel of work was
unknown, and where the simplest maxims of social or domestic
economy were neither practised nor understood. It was a state
of society that was fitted to arouse the intellectual activity and
benevolence of one less inquisitive, and less devoted to mankind,
than the new Bishop of Cloyne, whose favourite motto was non
siy't sed toti. The Protestant bishops of Ireland were not then
conspicuous leaders of enterprises for the social good of the whole
Irish nation, but Berkeley was too independent to suffer his aspi-
rations to be confined by ecclesiastical conventionalities.

The social state of Ireland occasioned what some readers may
think the most fruitful of all Berkeley's writings. Under the
influence of surrounding social phenomena, his active mind dis-
charged itself in questions. He began to publish the questions
in annual instalments. The work was entitled the ^Ij^eristj and
the First Part appeared in 1735. It was published anonymously,
and edited by his old friend Dr. Madden of Dublin. Madden, in

VII.] First Year's in the Irish Diocese. 243

conjunction with Tliomas Prior, had a few years before founded
the Dublin Society for promoting useful arts and sciences in
Ireland, to which that country now as then owes so much 1^.
The ^Ijier'ft was meant to second their endeavours. The com-
bined effort was not lost. There was an appreciable amend-
ment in the circumstances of Ireland towards the middle of the
last century, which can be partly traced to their influence, and
partly to the manly patriotism of Swift -^. But the thoughts
proposed in the ^Ijerist are of more than transitory interest,
and more large and generous than those of Swift, After the
lapse of nearly a century and a half, the student of society
and the statesman may here find maxims which legislation has
not yet outgrown. It is only now that we are fairly resolving
' whether a scheme for the welfare of the Irish nation should not
take in the whole inhabitants ; and whether it be not a vain
attempt to project the flourishing of our Protestant gentry, ex-
clusive of the bulk of the natives,' Berkeley was probably the
first among Protestant ecclesiastics to propose the admission of
Catholics to the College of Dublin, without being obliged to
attend chapel, or divinity lectures; and he generously mentions the
Jesuits, in their Colleges in Paris, as an example of the greater
liberality in this respect of the Church of Rome^^.

The following letter from the Bishop of London, contained in

' '" Samuel Madden, D.D., born in Dublin at le^st £300 per annum,' which be had re-
in 1687,3 leader in last century of various ceived from the Bishop of Cloyne ; 'unasked,
efforts for promoting the civilization of lie- and unexpected, and without any regard to
land, in conjunction with Berkeley, Prior, kindred or application, especially valuable as
and others, and especially in connexion with coming from a person you have an esteem
the Dublin Society. He wrote various works for. . . . The Bishop of Cloyne desires you
in literature and social economy, and some will accept of his best services.' It is curious
of the Essays by the Duhliii Society, on flax- that I have not found extant a single letter
husbandry, Irish linens, road making, &c., either from Swift to Berkeley, or from
which appeared in 1737 and the following Berkeley to Swift.

years : also Memoirs of the Twentieth Cen- ^' ' Berkeley,' says Sir J. Mackintosh,

tury, or Original Letters of State tinder ' though of English extraction, was a true

George VI. He died in 1765. Irishman, and the first eminent Protestant

*" Though I have not found any signs of after the unhappy contest at the Revolution,

intercourse between Berkeley at Cloyne, and who avowed his love for all his countrymen.

Swift, there are occasional indications of Perhaps the Querist contains more hints,

remembrance. In this very year (1735), then original, still unapplied [in 1 829] in

there is a letter to Swift from, the Rev. legislation and political economy, than are

Mr. Donellan, dated Cloyne, October 31, in to be found in any equal space.' Disserta-

which he mentions some preferment, ' worth tion, p. 211.

R 2

244 Z?y^ and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

the Berkeley Papers, reminds us of the Analyst^ and connects us
with Berkeley in the early part of i 736 : —

Whitehall, Feb. 7, 1735 — 6.
My Lord,

I HOPE this will find your Lordship perfectly at ease, and at liberty to
attend your mathematical infidels; for, though I am not a competent
judge of the subject, I am sure, from your espousing it with so much
zeal, and against such adversaries, that, in pursuing the point, you are
doing good service to religion. Here we have now little trouble from
professed infidels, but a great deal from semi-infidels, who, under the
title of Christians, are destroying the whole work of our Redemption by
Christ, and making Christianity little more than a system of morality.
But their design is so bare-faced and shocking that they make little pro-
gress among serious people.

It has been a doubt for some time, whether the Dissenters would
trouble this Session with their Bill for repealing the Corporation and
Test Acts. But now it is said with some assurance that we are to ex-
pect it, though without any probability of success. The Court are
openly and avowedly against them, and so are the Tories ; and from
what quarter their support is to come, we do not yet see or conceive. It
is given out that they do it to know their friends from their foes, and I
believe they reckon that the beginning it now, though without success,
will make the way for better quarter in some future Session. On the
contrary, their bringing in the Bill is so much against the declared judg-
ment of many members who otherwise wish them well, that we think
they will provoke their friends, and lose much ground by the attempt.
Whether they or we judge right, time must show^^.

I shall be glad to see the proportion between Protestants and Papists
fairly stated ; not only because the accounts have hitherto been repre-
sented very differently, but also because it is a point upon which great
stress is laid, upon some occasions, both with them and us.

I am, my Lord,

Your Lordship's very faithful servant and brother,

EDM. LONDON.

°^ Contrary to the remonstrances of Sir was negatived b)' 251 to 123. The morn-

R. Walpole, the Dissenters insisted on trying ing after, the Bishop of London went to

the repeal of the Corporation and Test Acts. Walpole to thank him in the name of the

Walpole opposed his old friends when the bishops for his support of the Established

repeal was proposed in the House, on the Church. See Lord Hervey's Memoirs of the

1 2th of March, 1736, and the proposition Reign of George II, ch. XXIIL

VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 245

In the following month Berkeley writes thus to his friend
Johnson about American missions and Yale College : —

Cloync, March 12, 1735 — 6.
Reverend Sir,

My remote distance from London deprives me of those opportunities
which I might otherwise have of being serviceable to your missionaries,
though my inclinations are still the same. I am very glad to find
persons of Mr. Arnold's character disposed to come over to our Church,
which, it is to be hoped, will sooner or later prevail over all their
prejudices. It were indeed to be wished that the Society was able to
establish new missionaries as often as candidates offer themselves ; but
I persuade myself that what their funds will allow them to do will not be
wanting in favour of your natives. I have wrote to my friend the
Bishop of Gloucester, desiring an allowance from the Society may be
obtained for Mr. Arnold towards defraying the expenses of his voyage^^
But for a salary he must wait till provision can be made, or till a vacancy
occurs.

It is no small satisfaction to me to hear that a spirit of emulation is
raised in our scholars at Newhaven, and that learning and good sense
are gaining ground among them. I do not wonder that these things
should create some jealousy in such as are bigotted to a narrow way of
thinking, and that this should produce uneasiness to you and other well-
wishers of our Church. But I trust in God that the prudence and
temper of yourself and your associates will, with God's blessing, get the
better of misguided and unruly zeal, which will never be a match for the
wisdom from above.

I have passed this winter at Cloyne, having been detained from Parlia-
ment by my ill-health, which is now pretty well re-established. My
family are all well, and concur with me in best wishes to you and yours.
I am, Reverend Sir,

Your most faithful, humble servant and brother,

GEORGE CLOYNE.

As to your postscript, I can only say that Ireland contains ten times
more objects of charity, whether we consider the souls or bodies of men,
than are to be met with in New England. And indeed there is so much

^'Jonathan Arnold, the successor of Samuel lost on a second voyage to England in

Johnson at Westhaven in the Congregational 1739. See Updike, p. 163 ; also Beardsley's

ministry, joined the Church of England in History of the Episcopal Church in Connec-

1734. He went to England for orders in ticut, ch. VIII.
I 736, and, after returning to America, was

246 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

to be done (and so few that care to do it) here at home, that there can
be no expectations from hence.

In the summer of this year the following pleasant effusion was
sent to his old friend James, then Sir John James, Bart., of Bury
St. Edmonds, whose succession took place in 1736, and who seems
about that time to have returned from America : —

Cloj'fie, '^oth of June, 1736.
Dear Sir,

In this remote corner of Imokilly, where I hear only the rumours and
echoes of things, I know not whether you are still sailing on the ocean,
or already arrived to take possession of your new dignity and estate. In
the former case I wish you a good voyage ; in the latter I welcome you,
and wish you joy. I have a letter written and lying by me these three
years, which I knew not whither or how to send you. But now you are
returned to our hemisphere, I promise myself the pleasure of being able
to correspond with you. You who live to be a spectator of odd scenes
are come into a world much madder and odder than that you left. We
also in this island are growing an odd and mad people. We were odd
before, but I was not sure of our having the genius necessary to become
mad. But some late steps of a public nature give sufficient proof
thereof.

Who knows but when you have settled your affairs, and looked about
and laughed enough in England, you may have leisure and curiosity
enough to visit this side of the water .? You may land within two miles
of my house, and find that from Bristol to Cloyne is a shorter and much
easier journey than from London to Bristol. I would go about with you,
and show you some scenes perhaps as beautiful as you have seen in all
your travels. My own garden is not without its curiosity, having a
number of myrtles, several of which are seven or eight feet high. They
grow naturally, with no more trouble or art than gooseberry bushes.
This is literally true. Of this part of the world it may truly be said that
it is —

' Ver ubi longum, tepidasque praebet
Jupiter brumas.'

My wife most sincerely salutes you. We should with compliment be
overjoyed to see you. I am in hopes soon to hear of your welfare, and
remain, dear Sir, your most obedient and affectionate servant,

G. CLOYNE.

It was in this month of June that the Second Part of the

VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 247

^luertst was published. In 1 736 too he issued A Discourse addressed
to Magistrates and Men in Authority ^ occasioned hy the enormous license
and irreligion of the Times. This is more in the tone of his contro-
versial writings against the Free-thinkers in the Guardian^ and in
Alciphron j but with particular reference to some appearances in
Ireland by a contemptible association of so-called Blasters^ in
Dublin, who about this time attracted ecclesiastical attention.

The Cathedral registry informs us of the birth of another son,
William, before the end of 1736 ^■*.

Early in 1737, there was a letter from Berkeley to Thomas
Prior, at Dublin, of whom we have heard nothing for nearly
three years, any correspondence between them in these years
having been lost. It presents an interesting picture of rural
industry at Cloyne, and announces the publication of the Third
Part of the ^luerist : —

Cloyne, March 5, 1736 — 7.
Dear Tom,

I HEEK send you what you desire. If you approve of it, publish it in
one or more of our newspapers ; if you have any objection, let me know
it by the next post. I mean, as you see, a brief abstract ; which I could
wish were spread through the nation, that men may think on the subject
against next session.

But I would not have this letter made public sooner than a week after
the publication of the Third Part of my Querist, which I have ordered to
be sent to you. I believe you may receive it about the time that this
comes to your hands ; for, as I told you in a late letter, I have hastened
it as much as possible. I have used the same editor (Dr. Madden) for
this as for the foregoing two Parts.

I must desire you to purchase for me six copies of the Third Part of the
Querist, which I would have stitched in six pamphlets ; so that each
pamphlet shall contain the First, Second, and Third Parts of the Querist.
I would have these pamphlets covered with marble paper pasted on white
paper, and the leaves cut and gilt on the edges; and you will let me
know when they are done — the sooner the better.

^* In the following entry : — December, 1736. Hugh Lumley, James

' William Berkeley, son to George, Lord Manle, godfathers, and Mrs. Margaret Long-
Bishop of Cloyne, was baptized loth of field, godmother.'

248 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Our spinning-school is in a thriving way. The children begin to find
a pleasure in being paid in hard money ; which I understand they will
not give to their parents, but keep to buy clothes for themselves. Indeed
I found it difficult and tedious to bring them to this ; but I believe it will
now do. I am building a workhouse for sturdy vagrants, and design to
raise about two acres of hemp for employing them. Can you put me in
a way of getting hemp-seed ; or does your Society distribute any } It is
hoped your flax-seed will come in time.

Last post a letter from an English bishop tells me, a difference between
the king and prince is got into parliament, and that it seems to be big
with mischief, if a speedy expedient be not found to heal the breach. It
relates to the provision for his Royal Highness's family.

My three children have been ill. The eldest and youngest are
recovered ; but George is still unwell. We are all yours truly. Your
affectionate humble servant,

GEOR. CLOYNE,

The following is the letter referred to, containing some thoughts
about a National Bank, which was sent to Prior for publication
in the newspapers, and appeared in the Dublin Journal: —

Sir,

You tell me gentlemen would not be averse from a national bank,
provided they saw a sketch or plan of such bank laid down and proposed
in a distinct manner. For my own part, I intended only to put queries,
and offer hints, not presuming to direct the wisdom of the public.
Besides, it seemed no hard matter, if any one should think fit, to convert
queries into propositions. However, since you desire a brief and
distinct abstract of my thoughts on this subject, be pleased to take it
as follows.

I conceive that, in order to erect a national bank, and place it on a
right foot, it maybe expedient to enact — i. That an additional tax often
shillings the hogshead be laid on wine, which may amount to about ten
thousand pounds a-year ; or to raise a like sum on foreign silks, linens,
and laces. 2. That the fund arising from such tax be the stock for a
national bank ; the deficiencies whereof to be made good by parliament.
3. That bank-notes be minted to the value of one hundred thousand
pounds in round numbers, from one pound to a hundred. 4. That
these notes be issued either to particular persons on ready money or on
mortgage, or to the uses of the public on its own credit. 5. That
a house and cashiers, &c., be appointed in Dublin for uttering and

VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 249

answering these bills, and for managing this bank as other banks are
managed. 6. That there be twenty-one inspectors, one third whereof to
be persons in great office under the crown, the rest members of both
houses, ten whereof to go out by lot, and as many more to come in once
in two years. 7. That such inspectors shall, in a body, visit the bank
twice every year, and any three of them as often as they please. 8. That
no bills or notes be minted but by order of parliament. 9. That it be
felony to counterfeit the notes of this bank. 10. That the public be
alone banker, or sole proprietor of this bank.

The reasons for a national bank, and the answers to objections, are
contained in the Querist ; wherein there are also several other points
relating to a bank of this nature, which in time may come to be con-
sidered. But at present thus much may suffice for a general plan to try
the experiment and begin with ; which plan, after a year or two of trial,
may be further improved, altered, or enlarged, as the circumstances of
the public shall require.

Every one sees the scheme of a bank admits of many variations
in minute particulars ; several of which are hinted in the Querist, and
several more may easily be suggested by any one who shall think on that
subject. But it should seem the difficulty doth not consist so much in
contriving or executing a national bank, as in bringing men to a right
sense of the public weal, and of the tendency of such bank to promote
the same.

I have treated these points, and endeavoured to urge them home, both
from reason and example, particularly in the Third Part of the Querist
lately published ; which, with the two former, contain many hints,
designed to put men upon thinking what is to be done in this critical
juncture of our affairs ; which I believe may be easily retrieved and put
on a better foot than ever, if those among us who are most concerned
be not wanting to themselves. I am. Sir, your humble servant,

The QUERIST.

The Third Part of the Querist was the last which appeared.
This first edition of the work, in three Parts, is now
extremely rare, and was inaccessible to former editors. It
contains nearly twice as much matter as the reduced, and now
common, edition (published in 1750); in particular, a number of
queries about a National Bank for Ireland — a subject much dis-
cussed at the time. I have been fortunate enough to obtain the
original edition, and I have given some account of it in the

250 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Appendix to the third volume of the Works^ where the queries
omitted in all the later editions are reprinted for the first time.

The following letter -^ was written to Berkeley by Bishop Benson
in April : —

My dear Lord,

I MUST first mention what is first in the thoughts and mouths of every
one— the death of my Lord Chancellor^". It is lamented so much as a
public loss that it seems too selfish to bewail it as a private one. Never
loss was so publickly and universally lamented. All degrees and orders
and parties of men, however opposite in other respects, all unite in their
sorrow upon this account, and none express a greater than the friends of
the Established Church. He had given so strong and late an instance of his
affection to it, by getting the Bounty of the late Queen, which had been
so violently attacked at the end of the last session, so well settled by an
Order of Council, and he was ready on all occasions so powerfully to
have espoused the interests of the Church, and so able to have defended
them, that none more than the clergy express their sorrow on this
occasion, and among the clergy none more than the Bp. of London.
The Bp. of Oxford will, I doubt not, make a very good Archbishop.
Upon his promotion it was proposed to me to remove to Oxford, and
that, besides the Commendam I already have, I should have a Canonry
of Christ Church, which is vacant, added to it. I am, I thank God, so
much contented where I am that I have no desire to move to Oxford,
or any other place. My Brother Seeker^'' has since had an offer of the
Bpk. of Oxford, but he also has declined accepting it, and it is not as yet
disposed of

My Lord Bathurst^*, whom you mention, has lately said a great deal to
me, to assure me of his good intention towards the Church and Uni-
versities, to both of which he has of late been looked upon to be so great
an enemy. [I will] hope his professions are real, though other persons
are not inclined to believe them. My Lord Bolinbroke set himself up
for an old Whig, a great patron of republican principles, and a great
admirer of such religious ones as Thomas Chubb and some others

^■^ BerJieley Papers. ^' Allan, first Lord Bathurst, the friend

^^ Lord Chancellor Talbot, son of Bishop of Pope. The poet as well as the peer

Talbot. He was created Baron Talbot in are both associated with the sylvan beauty

173;?, and is the ancestor of the present Earl of Cirencester. Lord Bathurst was a

of Shrewsbury. centre of the wits of Queen Anne and

"" Seeker was after all translated to the first two Georges. He died in 1775'

Oxford in 1737, where he succeeded Potter, aged 91.
who was made Archbishop of Canterbury.

VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 251

have been advancing. His Ldp. has endeavoured to proselyte as many
of the Tories as he could, but he has made few disciples among them,
and most of them, to their honour be it spoken, have declared their
detestation of his new scheme, and have acted [like] honest and consistent
men.

I am rejoiced to hear of the increase of your health and of your
family. My best wishes attend them. My humble services wait upon
Mrs. Berkeley. My sister''^^ is still at Bath, and there is little likelihood
of her being able to come to London this Spring.

Mr. Walpole, the second son of Sir Robert, is appointed Secretary to
the Duke of Devonshire.

My Lord Hardwicke^" has succeeded my Lord Talbot, and he was the
only person in the kingdom capable of filling that post.

We have had an unhappy contest between the K. and Prince, about
settling an allowance for the latter". It has been moved in both Houses
to address his Majesty to settle ioo,ooolb. p. afi. on his son, which was

rejected by a majority of against 204 in the H. of Com., and of

10 in the H. of Lds.

I have enclosed with this Mr. Tryon's account of his having rec'l the
money. He and his son are Joint Treasurers of the Society.
I am, my dear Lord,

Most affectionately and faithfully yours,

M. GLOCESTER.
Si. James Street, Ar. i, i73f.

The Adventures of Signor Gaudentio di L.ucca^ an anonymous work
of fiction, published in 1737^^, which gained some applause as
an elegant production of imaginative benevolence, has been some-
times attributed to Berkeley. It describes a journey to a Utopian
community, called Mezoranians, supposed to be flourishing in the
centre of Africa, and to have been accidentally visited by Signor

^ Mrs. Seeker. 103 to 40 in the House of Lords, where

'" Philip Yorke, Lord Hardwicke, sue- Lord Carteret moved the grant. The dis-

ceeded Lord Talbot as Lord Chancellor. putes between the Prince of Wales (after

There had been a rivalry between them. his marriage) and the king were the scandal

^^ See Lord Hervey's Memoirs, chap. of that, the preceding, and the following

XXVIII — XXX. The Prince's claim, and year.

the relative debates in Parliament, was the '^ Other editions of Gaudentio di Lucca

great subject about this time. The debate followed — at Dublin in 1738, at London

in the Commons was on the 22nd of 1 748, and at Edinburgh 1761. The book

February, when the Prince was defeated by was translated into French in I 746.
334 to ?04; and on the following day, by

252 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Gaudentio, an Italian gentleman, in the course of his travels.
Like the Republic of Plato, the Utopia of More, or the New
Atlantis of Bacon, this romance was meant to paint an ideal
society, founded on purer principles than those of European
civilization. Berkeley's Bermuda enterprise, his former connec-
tion with Italy, his fondness for Plato, some vague resemblance
in the ingenuity of the fancy, and the amiable spirit of Gaudentto
di Luccaj may have given rise to the supposition that he was the
author. There is no sufficient ground in the qualities of the work,
in the absence of any definite testimony, to justify this conjecture.
It was at first favoured by the biographer of Berkeley in the
Biographia Britannicaj and again by others; but Stock afterwards
withdrew the statement, on the assertion of George Berkeley, ' that
his father did not write and never read through the Adventures of
Signor Gaudentio di Lucca •■^^.' Berkeley's employments about this
time were hardly consistent with a diversion of his energy to
writing a romance, and we may fairly infer that he, at any rate,
was not the author. The work is now assigned, on what seems to
be sufficient evidence, to Simon Berington, a Catholic priest ■''*.

The only break in Berkeley's secluded life at Cloyne, during
the many years of his residence there, was in the autumn of
1737, when he went to Dublin with his family for some
months, to attend to his parliamentary duties in the Irish
House of Lords. That more than three years should have elapsed
after his consecration before he took his seat in Parliament was a
want of conformity to the custom of his order which adds to the

'^ Biog. Brit. vol. III. — ' Addenda ; ' and Herefordshire gentleman. The authorship

Gent. Mag. vol. L. p. 125. See also Dun- of Gaudentio di Lucca was first attributed to

lop's History of Fiction ; Southey's Common- this excellent person by a correspondent of

place Book; and Pinkerton's Correspon- the Gent. Mag. (vol. LV. p. 747), where he

dence. is described as a Cathohc priest who had

^* ' This well-known fiction,' says Sir G. chambers in Gray's Inn, (where he was

Coruewall Lewis, ' which has long been keeper of a library for the use of the Romish

erroneously ascribed to Bishop Berkeley, was Clergy), and author of a Dissertation on the

in fact the work of Simon Berington, a Mosaical acco7mt 0/ the Creation, Deluge, 8cc.,

Catholic priest. The statement in the (London, l7iio), — the learning and other

Gent. Alag. which assigns to him the qualities of which resemble Gaudentio di

authorship of this work, is confirmed by Lucca. Berington lived at one time in

the traditions of his family in Herefordshire, Staffordshire. The authorship of Gaudentio

as I have ascertained from authentic infor- has also, but without evidence, been at-

mation.' Methods of Observation and Reason- tributed to a Dr. Swale of Huntingdon. See

ing in Politics, vol. II. p. 273, note. The Notes and Queries for 1850.
Rev. Simon Berington was the son of a

VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 253

evidence of his recluse tendencies. The Journals of the House give
the following information : — Die Mercurii^ 2 Nov. 1 737. — ' The Rev.
George Berkeley, Doctor of Divinity, being by Letters Patents,
dated 5 die Martii, 7° Georgii Secundi Regis, created Bishop
of Cloyne, was this day in his robes introduced between the
Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Kildare ^5, and the Right Rev.
the Lord Bishop of Corke and Ross ^% also in their robes. The
Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, and Ulster King at Arms, in
his coat of arms, carrying the said Letters Patents, preceding his
Lordship,' presented the same to the Lord Chancellor, on his knee,
at the Woolsack, who gave them to the Clerk of the Parliaments,
which were read at the table. His Writ of Summons was also read.
Then his Lordship came to the table, and took the oaths, and
made and subscribed the Declaration, pursuant to the Statutes, and
was afterwards conducted and took his place on the Lords and
Bishops bench.' And with this ceremonial we have the philosophic
Bishop in a new scene.

In the following winter he took his part in parliamentary
business. That Session was opened on the 4th of October 1737,
by a speech by the Duke of Devonshire, then the Lord Lieu-
tenant. Parliament was prorogued on the 23rd of March. From
the Journals, Berkeley seems to have been present on the following
days: — 1737. November 9, 10, 14, 18, 21, 29 j December 10, 23.
1738. January c^, 5; February 14, 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 27,
28 j March 3, 6, 10, 11, 18, 20, 22^ 23.

The Discourse to Magistrates, as I have said, was partly occa-
sioned by an impious society in Dublin, which, according to
Stock, * it put a stop to.' He adds that Berkeley ' expressed his
sentiments on the same subject in the House of Lords, the only
time he ever spoke there. The speech was received with much
applause.' I have not been able to find any other account of this
speech. From the Journals of the House, however, it appears that,
on the 17th of February 1738, it was ordered 'that the Lords'
Committees on religion do meet immediately after the rising of
the House, and examine as to the causes of the present noto-
rious immorality and profaneness, and that the Judges do assist.'
During February the subject received continued attention. On the

^ Charles Cobb, D.D. '« Robert Clayton. D.D.

254

Life and Letters of Berkeley.

[CH.

] oth of March the Earl of Granard reported from ' the Committees
for ReHgion.' As this Report contains some curious information
about the Blasters, it is presented in the appended note ^7.

^ ' The Lords' Committees for Religion,
appointed to examine into the causes of the
present notorious immorality and profane-
ness, beg leave, before they report to your
Lordships what progress they have made in
that inquiry, to observe, that an uncommon
scene of impiety and blasphemy appeared
before them, wherein several persons must
have been concerned ; but by reason of their
meeting late in the Session, they have not
been able to prepare a full and satisfactory
account thereof for your Lordships : how-
ever, they think it their duty to lay it be-
fore your Lordships, as it hath appeared to
them, that before the conclusion of this
Session, some measures may be taken to put
a stop to the spreading of these impieties,
which it is to be hoped, in the next Session
of Parliament, your Lordships will be able,
by proper laws and remedies, wholly to
extinguish and prevent for the future.

' The Lords' Committees have sufficient
grounds to believe (though no direct proof
thereof upon oath hath yet been laid before
them) that several loose and disorderly per-
sons have of late erected themselves into a
Society or Club under the name of Blasters,
and have used means to draw into this
impious Society several of the youth of this
kingdom.

' What the practices of this Society are
(besides the general fame spread through the
whole kingdom) appears by the examina-
tions of several persons, taken upon oath
before the Lord Mayor of this City, in rela-
tion to Peter Lens, painter, lately come into
this kingdom, who professes himself a
Blaster.

' By these examinations, it appears, that
the said Peter Lens professes himself to be
a votary of the devil ; that he hath offered
up prayers to him, and publickly drank to
the devil's health ; that he hath at several
times uttered the most daring and execrable
blasphemies against the sacred name and
Majesty of God ; and often made use of
such obscene, blasphemous, and before uh-
heard-of expressions, as the Lords' com-
mittees think they cannot even mention to
your Lordships : and therefore choose to
pass over in silence.

' As impieties and blasphemies of this kind
were utterly unknown to our ancestors, the
Lords' committees observe, that the laws
framed by them must be unequal to such

enormous crimes, and that a new law is
wanting, more effectually to restrain and
punish blasphemies of this kind.

' The Lords' committees cannot take upon
them to assign the immediate causes of such
monstrous impieties ; but they beg leave to
observe, that of late years there hath ap-
peared a greater neglect of religion and all
things sacred, than was ever before known
in this kingdom ; a great neglect of Divine
Worship, both publick and private, and of
the due observance of the Lord's Day : a
want of reverence to the laws and magis-
trates ; and of a due subordination in the
several ranks and degrees in the community;
and an abuse of liberty, under our mild and
happy constitution : a great neglect in educa-
tion ; and a want of care in parents and
masters of families, in training up their chil-
dren in reverence and awe ; and keeping
their servants in discipline and good order ;
and instructing them in moral and reli-
gious duties ; a great increase of idleness,
luxury and excessive gaming : and an ex-
cess in the use of spirituous and intoxicating
liquors.

' Wherefore the Lords' Committees are
come to the following resolutions, viz. : —
Resolved, that it is the opinion of this
Committee, that his Majesty's Attor-
ney-General be ordered to prosecute
Peter Lens with the utmost severity
of the law.
Resolved, that it is the opinion of this
committee, that an humble address
be presented to his Grace the Lord
Lieutenant, that he would be pleased
to order that proclamation may issue
with a reward for apprehending the
said Peter Lens ; and that he would
be further pleased to give it in direc-
tion to the Judges in their several
circuits, to charge the magistrates,
to put the laws in execution against
immorality and profane cursing and
swearing and gaming, and to inquire
into atheistical and blasphemous
Clubs.
Resolved, that it is the opinion of this
Committee, that the Bishops be de-
sired, at their visitations, to give it
in particular charge to their clergy
to exhort their people to a more
frequent and constant attendance on
divine service.

VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 255

The following letter ^^, addressed to him at this time by his wife's
uncle, Bishop Forster, refers to this subject : —

My Lord,

I HAVE ye favour of y^ letter that came by last post, and hope yr family,
which, yu say, have been twice laid down with colds, is up again, and
that ye season of y^ year that is coming in wil bring y" relief from y
colic.

I am persuaded y" have made a true representation of y^ present state
of ye Church, and, God knows, it is a melancholy one. When y^ laity
form themselves into a party in opposition to y® clergy, how can we
expect any good success from our labours among them 1 Men wil never
receive instruction from those to whom they bear ill wil, and their con-
tempt of our labours wil, I fear, bring an increase of vice and infidelity
among us. However, it is our duty to be circumspect, and give no
offence ; to be diligent in y^ discharge of our office, and moderate in y^
demands of our temporaltys ; that y' laity may see that ye cause of reli-
gion more at heart than any worldly gain. These are ye likelyest means,
with God's blessing, to allay those heats that are raised against us ; but,
if violent measures be taken on both sides, what hope can we have of a
reconciliation? The clergy in this part of ye country have had their
share in y- common calamity \ but I find that angry spirit that has been
awfully stirred up in ye minds of ye people against them begins to abate,
and they receive their dues with less opposition than they did some time
ago ; and I have good hopes that time and patience on our side will
bring ye people to reason.

, Your account of y'' new society of Blasters in Dublin is shocking : the
zeal of all good men for y^ cause of God should rise in proportion to y^
impiety of these horrid blasphemers.

I am glad to hear both ye King and his ministry are determined to
give no countenance to innouators in Church affairs ; there is reason to
believe they have ill designs against ye State as wel as ye Church. I
pray God give peace in our time on earth, and bring us safe to heaven,

Resolved, that it is the opinion of this to the laws and religion of their

Committee, that the visitors of the country.'

university, and of all schools, do ex- The grandson of the Lord Granard who

hort and require the fellows and conducted this investigation married, in

masters, carefully to instruct the 1 766, Georgiana, daughter of Augustus,

youth committed to their care in the fourth Earl of Berkeley. She is referred to

principles of religion and morality ; in the Preface to Monck Berkeley, p. cxxiv.
and to inculcate a due reverence "* Berkeley Papers.

256 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

where there is no contention. We are happily freed from those two

pernicious bills y" mention, and may be content now with a blank

session.

I am, my Lord,

Y"" Lordship's most faithfull brother and
humble servant,

N. RAPHO.
Rapho, Feb. 20, 173 1 — 8.

If yr lordship's health and leisure wil allow, I should desire y" would,
on ye return of y^ bills, favour me with an account of such of them as
relate to y^ Church.

There is no proof that the Blasters deserved the notoriety which
these proceedings conferred upon them. The parliamentary
Journals give us no further information about their history, and
it does not seem that this legislative notice of their existence
conferred any permanent influence upon them.

The foUow^ing letter ^^ from his friend the Bishop of Gloucester
was addressed to Berkeley when he was at Dublin : —

Berry Street, Westminster,

Feb. 7, 1737—8.
My dear Lord,

I WAS much pleased to hear that you were come to Dublin and at-
tended the Session of Parliament there. For, though I love to be in my
Diocese as much as I can, and wish that some of my brethren loved it
more, yet it is so necessary for supporting the interest of the Church
that the Bishops should be present in Parliament, that it is our duty, I
think, to appear there ; and if we take care to shew that it is not our
private interest which brings us thither and rules us there, we may be
able to do some good, or at least to hinder a good deal of mischief. A
great deal is designed against us, and every opportunity is watched and
waited for to put it in execution. The Queen's death*'' is a severe blow,
and those who would not be persuaded, while she lived, how zealous a
friend she was to our Church and Constitution, have, since her death,
been fully convinced of it. Both the King and the Minister seem firmly
resolved to suffer no innovation, and to keep things as they are both

39 Berkeley Papers. chap. XXXVII1_XL., for a remarkable

*" The ' philosophic Queen' Caroline died account of her last illness and death.
Nov. 20, i7.-i7. See Lord Hervey's Mettioirs,

VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 257

here and in Ireland. And the great man you mention is, I believe, in
the same way of thinking ; but ^here are so few others in it, that, not-
withstanding this support, we stand, I fear, upon very dangerous ground.
Not that I ihink the danger so near as you apprehend. There are some
few wise men who would be for saving the Church upon political con-
siderations, and some few good men who would be for preserving it upon
religious ones ; and those who are for destroying it, though many, yet
are so divided, that though they agree to pull down, yet they differ so
much about what they would have erected in the place, that this may be
a means of keeping the old building up. Though the memory of Crom-
well is not publicly drank to on this as it is on your side the water, yet
we have those who are silly enough to think that he was a Republican,
and venerate him upon that account.

I made your compliments to my Lord Chancellor^', who desired his in
return to you, and spoke with great esteem and regard of you.

I have sent your letter to Mr. Wolfe's lodgings. He is not in town,
but they promised it should be sent safely to him*'^.

We are likely to do little in Parliament, and you will think, I believe,
the less the better. The less harm it certainly is so, but when so many
good things are so much wanted to be done, it is very shameful to see
us sit so idle. It looks as if a power of doing harm only, and none of
doing good, was lodged with us.

The King is still very disconsolate ; he sees no company, nor is enter-
tained with any diversions. He is very thoughtful and serious, and if
serious people were about him, a great deal of good both to himself and
the nation might come from the situation and turn of mind he is at
present in. There has been talk of a reconciliation between the Prince
and him, but I could never find there was any sufficient ground for it.
■ Severe colds have been general here as well as in Ireland. I have
escaped pretty well, but I am sorry to hear you and your family have
had so large a share of this epidemical evil. My humble service and
best wishes of health wait upon Mrs. Berkeley, and always attend all your
family. I am very exact in my diet and regular in my hours, and both agree
very well with me. I am better, I thank God, both in my health and spirits
now than I have been for many years. The Bishop of Derry's [Rundle]
recovery is very surprising ; but I wish that what some reckon the cure
does not prove the ruin of his health, and that is, his return to flesh and
wine. While the Queen lived I had fair hopes of seeing the Baron here.

*' Lord Hardwicke. twelve years old. His parents were living

*^ This confirms the Wolfe connection. at Greenwich where the two sons were at
The 'hero of Quebec' was then only about school.

VOL. IV. S .

258 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

The prospect is since much clouded, but it perhaps may brighten up
again. It would be great joy to myself and to the Bishop of Oxford's
[Seeker] family to hear that you and yours design to visit England.
James ^^^ had deserted it before I got to London, and he does not talk
of returning before I shall have left it again.

Our Lords have made a less important order in their House than that
you mention to be made in yours, and that is, that I should print a ser-
mon preached before them January 30th ''^ The Bishop of Carlisle not
coming^up, it came to my turn sooner than it should. This order, how-
ever, ought to have weight enough to excuse me to my friends for trou-
bling them with one of the sermons, above all, as the order does not
extend so far as to oblige them to read it.

I am, my dear Lord,
Ever most affectionately and faithfully yours,

M. GLOCESTER.

From the following note to Johnson at Stratford, v^^hich again
speaks of infirm health, the Berkeley family seem to have returned
to Cloyne early in the summer of 173H : —

Dublin, May 11, 1738.
Reverend Sir,

I SHOULD not have been thus long in arrear in regard to my corre-
spondence with you, had I not been prevented by ill health, multiplicity
of business, and want of opportunities. When I last heard from you I
was at Cloyne, and am returning thither now with my family, who, I
bless God, are all well except myself, who for a long time past have
been troubled with an habitual colic, nor am I yet freed from it. My
wife sends you her compliments, and we both join in good wishes to
you and your family. The accounts you sent me from the College at
Newhaven were very agreeable, and I shall always be glad to hear from
you on that or any other subject. I am sensible you have to do with
people of no very easy or tractable spirit. But your own prudence will
direct you when and how far to yield, and what is the proper way to
manage with them. I pray God preserve you and prosper your en-
deavours. And I am, Reverend Sir,

Your very faithful servant and brother,

G. CLOYNE.

" Sir John James (?). almost the only published production of his,

« This was a Sermon preached before but Archdeacon Rose has an interesting

the House of Lords, by Bishop Benson, on volume of Benson's Sermons and Charges

Ps. LXXXni. 5—8, published in 1738— in MS.

VII.] Fi7^st Years in the Irish Diocese. 259

The following letter ^^ to Colonel Thomas Evans of Milltown,
near Charleville, whose daughter was married to Dean Brucc's 'f'
son, illustrates Berkeley's amiable disposition. It is the only
scrap I can find belonging to the months which immediately fol-
lowed his return from Dublin : —

Cloyne, 7ier y, 1738.
To Tho77ias Evans, Esq., at Mill-towne.

Sir,

Two nights ago I received the favour of your letter, but deferred
answering it till I should have seen Dean Bruce at my visitation ; from
which the Dean happened to be detained by the illness of his son. I
am very sorry there hath arisen any difference between you ; but, as you
have been silent as to particulars, and as the Dean hath mentioned
nothing of it to me, either by word of mouth, letter, or message, I can
do no more than in general terms recommend peace and good neigh-
bourhood, for the providing of which my best endeavours should not be
wanting. In the meantime give me leave to assure you that I have not
the least reason to entertain ill thoughts of your conduct; and that
where no blame is imputed all apology is useless. Upon the whole,
since the Dean hath not stirred in this matter, I hope it may die and be
forgotten. My wife presents her compliments, and

I remain, Sir, y' very obedient humble servt.,

G. CLOYNE.

The Cloyne register records the baptism of Berkeley's daughter
Julia, in October 1738 ^".

In November we are introduced to the Rev. Isaac Gervais^*,

*' See Brady's Records, vol. III. p. Il8. bishopric of Cloyne- 1726 — 31, when he was

*'' Reverend Jonathan Bruce, Vicar of translated to Dromore. He had two sons,

Charleville, Co. Cork, descended from Sir Captain Thomas Maule. and James Maule,

Andrew Bruce of Earlshall in Scotland. who married a daughter of Lord Barrymore

From 1724 to his death at Charleville, in 1727. ' Mrs. Longfield' was of Castle

in 1758, he was Dean of Kilfenora. See Mary; 'Hugh Lumley ' was of Ballymaloe ;

Brady's /2efor(fs, vol. II. pp. 37 40, for an and 'the Rev. Robert Berkeley ' was the

account of the family. Bishop's brother.

" The entry is as follows : — *** Isaac Gervais was a native of Mont-

' Julia Berkeley, daughter of George, pelier, born about 1 680, and carried out of

Lord Bishop of Cloyne, was baptised Oc- France, on the revocation of the Edict of

tober the 15th 1738. Godfathers, the Rev. Nantes, in lC-85— a member of one of the

Mr. Robert Berkeley, and Hugh Lumley, Huguenot families who then fled from

Esq. ; Mrs. Longfield and Mrs. Maule, god- France, and settled in Youghall, Waterford,

mothers.' The Maules in these entries and other parts of Ireland. He was Vicar

were connected with Bishop Maule, one of Choral of Lismore in 1708, Prebendary of

Berkeley's predecessors, who held the Lismore in 1723, and became Dean of Tuam

S 2

2 6o L ife and L dtcrs of Berkeley.

then a prebendary in the cathedral church of Lismore, a vivacious
and every way pleasant clerical neighbour, of French extraction,
who often visited Berkeley, and with whom he had much friendly
correspondence during the remaining years of his life. The fol-
lowing note is the earliest dated among the fragments which have
been preserved of that long continued correspondence : —

Cloytu, November 25, 1738.
Reverend Sir,

Mv wife sends her compliments to Mrs. Ger^•ais and yourself for the
receipt <S:c., and we both concur in thanks for your venison. The rain
hath so defaced your letter that I cannot read some pans of it. But I
can make a shift to see there is a compliment of so bright a strain, that
if I knew how to read it I am sure I should not know how to answer it.
If there was anything agreeable in your entertainment at my house, it
was chiefly owing to yourself, and so requires my acknowledgment,
which you have ver}- sincere. You give so much pleasure to others,
and are so easily pleased yourself that I shall live in hopes of your
making my house your inn whenever you \dsit these parts, which will be
ver}- agreeable to me.

The year which thus introduces Mr. Gervais upon the scene
is the last in which we have any account of Berkeley's wandering
beyond the limits of his diocese, until he left it to return no more.
We shall see him in the interval devoting himself more than ever
to his neighbourhood and to his study.

in 1743- He died in Feb. 1756, and was to his father. Among the descendants of

buried at Lismore. His son, Henry Ger- Dean Ger^-ais is the present distinguished

vais. was Archdeacon of Cashel 1772 — 90, Archbishop of Dublin,
and to him we owe the letters from Berkeley

CHAPTER VIII.

PHILANTHROPY, THEOLOGY, AND PHILOSOPHY AT CLOYNE.
TAR-WATER.

1739— 1752.

Berkeley is almost invisible in 1739 and 1740. His corre-
spondence in these two years is nearly a blank. Any letters he
may have sent to Prior, or Johnson, or Gervais, have been lost.
Nor have we even the reflected light of any addressed to him by
Seeker, or Benson, or Gibson. I have not found a trace of corre-
spondence with Pope after Berkeley's return from Italy, though,
according to Stock, the beauty of Cloyne was painted for the bard
of Twickenham by the same hand which in former days had
depicted Inarime.

The period in his life on which we are now entering, as
well as retrospective references in letters which follow, are illus-
trated in a curious local history of Cork, published while Berkeley
was alive. 'On the 5th of November 1739/ we are told ^, 'war
was proclaimed in Cork against the king of Spain -. The river
Lee was frozen up towards the end of this year by the hardest
frost in the memory of man, after which a great scarcity followed,
so that wheat sold in the following summer for forty-two shillings
the kilderkin; but in two years after it fell to six shillings and
sixpence the kilderkin. Great numbers of the poor perished during
the summers of 1741 and 1742/ It was a time of famine in the
county, followed by widespread disease. Epidemic fever and
bloody flux devastated the whole neighbourhood for years. The

1 The Ancient and Present State of the ^ The commencement of the Maritime

County of Cork. By Charles Smith. DubHn, War.

262 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

shadow of death again fell on the episcopal- palace of Cloyne in
one of these troubled years, as appears from the following entry in
the cathedral register: — 'Sarah Berkeley, daughter of the Right
Rev. George, Lord Bishop of Cloyne, was buried the 26th day of
March 1 740 3/

Berkeley's benevolent simplicity, as well as some of his notions
in political economy, are shown in stories which belong to this
time. At the commencement q^ the hard frost, in the long-
remembered winter of 1739 — 40, he came down to breakfast one
Sunday without a grain of powder in his Cloyne-made wig —
for his own dress as well as that of his servants, was made at
the village of Cloyne. His wife expressed her surprise at his
unwonted appearance. 'We shall have a famine forthwith,' he
replied, 'and I have desired that none of the servants put any
powder in their wigsj neither will I.' The chaplain, the
secretary, and the whole party took the hint. During all that
winter, every Monday morning, he gave twenty pounds to be
distributed among the poor of Cloyne, besides what they received
out of his kitchen*. He practised the maxims of his ^Ijieristj
in encouraging local handicraft, and he indulged his benevolent
heart in giving with both hands.

These dark years of famine and disease had in the end conse-
quences of lasting interest in Berkeley's history, and even in the
history of philosophic thought. The suffering in his neighbourhood
turned his attention to medicine. His American experience sug-
gested the medicinal properties of tar-water. Reading and
meditating about tar- Water, in his library and in his walks about
Cloyne, deepened the philosophical speculations of his early
years. The Cork frost of 1739 — 40 was thus the occasion of a
chain of thought the most curious of any even in the mental
experience of Berkeley. His thought too was now more than
formerly sustained by much and curious reading : conclusions
about the principles of things, reached in the early part of his
life, were, at this advanced stage, made broader and more pro-
found, perhaps darker too, by solitary pondering of Greek and
Eastern lore.

' I find no record of the birth of this * Preface to Monck Berkeley, p. ccccxiii.

daughter. She seems to have been the last- Part of the story is given by Stock,
born child, who died soon after her birth.

viil] Philmithropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 263

But we shall first follow his familiar life and correspondence in
the years immediately after the famine. Here are some letters to
Prior, which show what he was then busy about : —

Cloyne, Feb. 8, 1740 — 1.
Dear Tom,

I SHOULD have complied with your desire sooner, but I was not so well
able to say what method I thought best to take in this epidemical bloody
flux, that distemper not having been rife in this town till very lately,
though it had made a great progress in other parts of this county. But
this week I have cured several by the following course ; than which
nothing is easier or cheaper. I give to grown people a heaped spoonful
of rosin powdered fine, in a little broth ; and this is repeated at the
distance of six or eight hours till the blood is staunched. To children I
give a bare spoonful not heaped. A farthing's worth of rosin (if I may
judge by my own short experience) will never fail to stop the flux of
blood, with a regular diet. Broth seems to me the most proper diet ;
and that simple, of mutton or fowl, without salt, spice, or onions. I
doubt not clysters of the same broth and rosin would likewise have a
good effect ; but this I have i;ot yet tried. In the first place, make some
private experiments of this as you have opportunity. If, after the bloody
flux is over, a looseness remain, chalk in boiled milk and water may
remove it. I have also known tow, dipped in brandy and thrust into the
fundament, to be effectual in strengthening that sphincter. What you
call a felon is called in the books a phlegmon, and often is the crisis fol-
lowing a fever or other distemper. I believe tar-water might be useful
to prevent (or to perfect the cure of) such an evil ; there being, so far as
I can judge, no more powerful corrector of putrid humours. But I am
making a farther enquiry, and more experiments, concerning the virtues
of that medicine, which I may impart to you before it be long.

I find what you say of the two plain looms to be true, you having
allowed me for them. I desire you not to forget the wheels ; and to
procure what seed you can, if not what I wrote for. My wife and all
here join in wishing you all happiness, and hoping to see you here in
May, Adieu, dear Tom, your most faithful humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.

I thank you for thinking of the French book. Let me hear jour
success in using the rosin.

264 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Cloyne, Feb. 15, 1740 — 1.
Dear Tom,

I MUST desire you to take up what money I have in Henry's and
Alderman Dawson's hands, and lodge it in the bank of Swift and Com-
pany. You have their notes, so I need not draw. Upon paying this
money into Swift, you will send me his account balanced.

Our weather is grown fine and warm ; but the bloody flux has
Increased in this neighbourhood, and raged most violently in pther parts
of this and the adjacent counties. By new trials, I am confirmed in the
use of the rosin, and do therefore send you the following advertisement,
which you will communicate to the printer^. We are all yours, particularly
your affectionate

G. CLOYNE.

[A dvertisemenl^
Mr. Faulkner,

The following being a very safe and successful cure of the bloody
flux, which at this time is become so general, you will do well to make
it public. Give a heaped spoonful of common rosin, powdered, in a
little fresh broth, every five or six hours, till the bloody flux is stopped ;
which I have always found before a farthing's worth of rosin was spent.
If, after the blood is staunched, there remain a little looseness, this is
soon carried off by milk and water boiled with a little chalk in it. This
cheap and easy method I have often tried of late, and never knew it fail.
I am your humble servant,

A. B.

Cloyne, Feb. 24, 1746 — i.
Dear Tom,

I FIND you have published my remedy in the newspaper of this day.
I now tell you that the patients must.be careful of their diet, and
especially beware of taking cold. The best diet I find to be plain broth
of mutton or fowl, without seasoning of any kind. Their drink should
be, till they are freed both from dysentery and diarrhoea, milk and water,
or plain water boiled with chalk, drunk warm, e.g. about a large heaped
spoonful to a quart. Sometimes I find it necessary to give it every four
hours, and to continue it for a dose or two after the blood hath been
stopped, to prevent relapses, which ill management has now and then

^ Cf. Faulkner's Dublin Journal.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 265

occasioned. Given in due time (the sooner the better), and with proper
care, I take it to be as sure a cure for a dysentery as the bark for an
ague. It has certainly, by the blessing of God, saved many lives, and
continues to save many lives in my neighbourhood. I shall be glad to
know its success in any instances you may have tried it in. We are all
yours. Adieu,

G. CLOYNE.

Cloyne, May 19, 174 (.
Dear Tom,

The Physico-Theology you mention of Dr. Morgan*^ is not the book
I want ; but I should nevertheless be glad to have it, and therefore desire
you to get it, with the French book of Mr. Bouillet ^

Though the flax-seed came in such quantity and so late, yet we have
above one half ourselves in ground ; the rest, together with our own seed,
has been given to our poor neighbours, and will, I doubt not, answer,
the weather being very favourable.

The distresses of the sick and poor are endless. The havoc of man-
kind in the counties of Cork, Limerick, and some adjacent places, hath
been incredible. The nation probably will not recover this loss in a
century. The other day I heard one from the county of Limerick say
that whole villages were entirely dispeopled. About two months since I
heard Sir Richard Cox ^ say that five hundred were dead in the parish
where he lives, though in a country 1 believe not very populous.

It were to be wished people of condition were at their seats in the
country during these calamitous times, which might provide relief and
employment for the poor. Certainly if these perish, the rich must be
sufferers in the end.

Sir John Rawdon ^, you say, is canvassing for an English election. If
he doth not lose it, I doubt his country will lose him.

Your journey hither is, it seems, put off for some time. I wish you
would hasten : the sooner the better, both for your own health and the

f' Thomas Morgan, M.D., published Phih- ' Sir Richard Cox, Bart., of Dunmanway,

sophical Principles of Medicine, &c., about Co Cork, and M.P. for Cloghnakilty, born

1730, but I have not found a work having 1702, died 1766. He was a grandson of

the above title. the celebrated Sir Richard Cox, Lord Chan-

' John Bouillet (1690 — 1770), a French cellor of Ireland in Queen Anne's reign. See

medical writer, author of Avis et Remedes Harris's Ware, vol. U. p. 207.

contre la Pesle (1721), and Sur lamanie.re ^ Cf. p. 67.
de trailer la Petite Verole (i 736).

266 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

pleasure of your friends in this family, where we all expect you, and
think we have an annual right in you.

You have not said a word this age about our suit with Partinton.
Pray how stands that matter ?

Adieu, dear Tom. I am your affectionate humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.

All here salute you.

We have tried in this neighbourhood the receipt of a decoction of
briar-roots for the bloody flux which you sent me, and in some cases
found it useful. But that which we find the most speedy, sure, and effec-
tual cure, above all others, is a heaped spoonful of rosin dissolved and
mixed over a fire with two or three spoonfuls of oil, and added to a pint
of broth for a clyster ; which, upon once taking, hath never been known
to fail stopping the bloody flux. At first I mixed the rosin in the broth,
but that was difficult, and not so speedy a cure.

The Berkeley Papers contain the following rough drafts of three
letters, which must have been written by Berkeley about this
time, as appears from internal evidence. His warm heart and
playful humour characteristically animate these fragments, amidst
the prevailing gloom. All of them refer to his old friend
Richard Dalton's third marriage. The first is addressed to
Dalton himself: —

When I expected to have heard you were an exile at Rome or
Paris, I am agreeably surprised to hear you are the happiest man
in London, married to a young and beautiful nymph. O terque qua-
terque beate, in this degenerate age ; when so many are afraid to marry
once, you dare to do it a third time. May all happiness and success
attend your courage. Were I a Dictator, there should be a Jus trium
uxorum^^ for those who magnanimously endeavour to repair the late
breaches made upon the public by famine, sickness, and wars.

Without compliment, my wife and I do sincerely congratulate your
nuptials, and wish your example may prevail with those worthy batchelors
Sir John James and Mr. Wolfe", who have not much time to lose. A
long continuance of ill health has weaned me from the world, and made
me look with indiff'erence on the most dazzling things in it. But, so long

^^ A parody on the title of Jus, trium lived in Dublin, and was then a bachelor
Uberorum. about fifty years of age.

" Perhaps an uncle of General Wolfe, who

VIII.] PhilaiUhropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 267

as I live, I shall retain good wishes for my friends, and a sense of their
happiness.

I look upon you now as a man who may one day be my neighbour,
and take it for granted that your roving spirit is fixed in your native land,
which I was heartily sorry to think had been forsaken by you and Sir
John James, and am as much pleased to think myself mistaken. Sir
John tells me his health can stand the climate ; and for everything else
I imagine he will give the preference to his country, which, with all its
faults about it, I take to be the goodliest spot of Europe.

I hope all your family are well and thriving. My little ones are so,
amidst a raging epidemic (fever and bloody flux) — three sons and a
daughter. But such a daughter ! so bright a little gem ! that, to prevent
her doing mischief among the illiterate squires, I am resolved to treat
her like a boy and make her study eight hours a day !

It does not appear for whom the next scrap was meant (unless
Mr. Wolfe), but it evidently belongs to the same date ; —

Dear Sir,

I HAVE lived so long in this nook, by ill health as well as situation cut
off from the ways of men and sequestered from the rest of the world
.... which nevertheless hath not effaced the memory of my friends,
and good wishes for them.

You will therefore pardon me if, having no news to send, I send you
instead thereof a letter of advice. Our friend Mr. Dalton is, I hear,
married the third time, which shews him to be a prudent man as well as
a laudable patriot. Such an example is indeed a public benefit, when the
nation is drained by war and hard times, and when our gentlemen con-
spire to put marriage out of countenance. It is to be wished you may
profit by this example, not only for the public good but for your own.
Though you are far from being an old man, I will take the freedom to
say you are bordering on what we call an old batchelor, a character not
the most useful to the public, nor the most agreeable to him that wears it.
The former point needs no common-place to clear it. For the other,
give me leave to say, Mr. Dalton and I are better judges than you.
Health and affluence may bear you up for some years, but when age and
infirmities come on, you will feel and bewail the want of a family of your
own, and the comforts of domestic life. A wife and children are blessings
invaluable, which, as a man cannot purchase for money, so he would sell
them for no price. . . .

P.S. Give me leave to add one hint, viz., that Plato (who you know

568 Life and Letters of Berkeley, [ch.

was a wise man for a Gentile) sacrificed to nature as an atonement for
his not having children. Your godson exceeds my hopes. I wish I had
twenty [like] George. I assure you I would rather have them than
twenty thousand pounds a year.

The fragment which foUovi^s, where he speaks more distinctly
about the nature of his ill health, was perhaps intended for Sir
John James, his old friend and companion in the Rhode Island
expedition : —

Your letter refreshed me like a shower after a drought. I thought
you had been in foreign lands, but am glad to find you have been so
lono- in England, and your health not the worse for it. Give me leave
to reckon it at least among the possibilities, that you may sometime or
other come to Bath, and from thence take it in your head to make
a short trajet to our coast, where you will find me with a wife, three sons,
and a daughter — of starlike beauty — rejoicing literally under our fig-trees.

Your patriots surely are the most profound or the most stupid of
politicians. Why they should freely and with open eyes make such a
step seems a most inexplicable riddle. I have long wished well to the
public, but my wishes have been so often disappointed, that public affairs
are grown more my amusement than concern. But news will alwaies be
entertaining.

' Stultorum regum et populoruni continet aestus.'

I thank you for what you told me. What you sent was very agreeable,
as, indeed, a line from you always will be. Here we have no news ; but
this, in all this province of Munster great devastations are made by bloody
fluxes, fevers, and want, which carry off more than a civil war.

Our well-bred friend whom you call the Abbd acts a becoming part ;
1 wish we had many more such Abbes among his brethren. Mr. Dalton,
who I expected was abroad with you, is, it seems, made happy the third
time (O terque quaterque beatus) ; I wish you would once [marry to
have that natural comfort of children] dare to do what he does so often.
Without that expedient you will lose the comforts of domestic life,
that natural refuge from solitude and years which is to be found in wife
and children. Mine are to me a great joy [the chief of the good things
of this world], and alone capable of making a life tolerable — so much
embittered by sickness as mine has been for several years. I had many
symptoms of the stone, and for a long time suspected my .... cholic to
be an effect thereof But of late I am satisfied that it is a scorbutic
cholic, and that my original disease is the scurvy.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 269

An important letter was written by Berkeley in 1741. In that
year Sir John James made known to him his intention of joining
the Church of Rome. His regard for the learning and goodness
of this gentleman induced him to write to Sir John at great length
on the subject, at a time too when Cloyne was a scene of suffering.
The letter, which is among the Berkeley Papers ^2, is interesting,
as it is almost the only expression we have of his views upon
some of the points of difference between Roman and Anglican
Theology ^^ : it also shows some of the directions that his reading
was now taking. Some parts of it are unfortunately wanting, but
what remains is as follows : —

Cloy tie, June 7 , 1 7 4 1 .
Dear Sir,

I WOULD not defer writing, though I write in no small confusion and
distress ; my family having many ill of an epidemical fever that rages in
these parts, and I being the only physician to them and my poor neigh-
bours. You have my sincere thanks for the freedom and friendship with
which you are so good to communicate your thoughts. Your making
the unum necessarium your chief business sets you above the world.
I heartily beg of God that He would give me grace to do the same ; a
heart constantly to pursue the truth, and abide in it, wherever it is found.

No divine could say, in my opinion, more for the Church of Rome
than you have done : —

' Si Pergama dextr^
Defend! possent, etiam hac defensa fuissent.'

[Virg. ^neid. II. 291.]

The Scriptures and Fathers, I grant, are a much better help to know
Christ and His Religion than the cold and dry writings of our modern
divines. Many who are conversant in such books, I doubt, have no
more relish for the things of the Gospel, than those who spend their
time in reading the immense and innumerable tomes of Scholastic
Divinity, with which the Church of Rome abounds. The dry polemical
theology was the growth of Rome, begun from Peter Lombard, the

"^ It was published from the MS., in one or two allusions in Alciphron. His

1850, b)' the Rev. James Anderson of letters, written some years after this, to

Brighton. the Roman Catholics of Cloyne, and to the

" See also Berkeley's Visitation Charge Roman Catholic Clergy of Ireland, do not

(now first published in this volume), and refer to points of doctrine.

270 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Master of the Sentences ^^; and grew and spread among the Monks and
Friars, under the Pope's eye. The Church of England is not without
spiritual writers of her own. Taylor, Ken. Beveridge, Scott, Lucas,
Stanhope, Nelson, the author of the works falsely ascribed to the writer
■of the Whole Duty of Man, and many more, whom I believe you will find
not inferior to those of the Church of Rome. But I freely own to you
that most modern writings smell of the age, and that there are no
books so fit to make a soul advance in spiritual perfection, as the
Scriptures and ancient Fathers.

I think you will find no Popery in St. Augustine, or St. Basil, or any
writers of that antiquity. You may see, indeed, here and there, in the
Fathers a notion borrowed from Philosophy (as they were originally
philosophers) ; for instance something like a Platonic or Pythagorean
Purgatory. But you will see nothing like indulgences, or a bank of
merits, or a Romish purgatory, whereof the Pope has the key. It is not
simply believing even a Popish tenet, or tenets, that makes a Papist, but
believing on the Pope's authority. There is in the Fathers a divine
strain of piety, and much of the spiritual life. This, we acknowledge, all
should aspire after, and I make no doubt is attainable, and actually
attained, in the communion of our Church, at least as well as in any
other.

You observe very justly that Christ's religion is spiritual, and the
Christian life supernatural ; and that there is no judge of spiritual things
but the Spirit of God. We have need, therefore, of aid and light from
above. Accordingly, we have the Spirit of God to guide us into all
truth. If we are sanctified and enlighted by the Holy Ghost and by
Christ, this will make up for our defects without the Pope's assistance.
And why our Church and her pious members may not hope for this help
as well as others, I see no reason. The Author of our faith tells us, He
that ' will do the will of God, shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of
God.' (S, John vii. 17.) I believe this extends to all saving truths.

There is an indwelling of Christ and the Holy Spirit; there is an
inward light. If there be an ignis fatuus that misleads wild and con-
ceited men, no man can thence infer there is no light of the sun. There
must be a proper disposition of the organ, as well as a degree of day-
light, to make us see. Where these concur nobody doubts of what he
sees. And a christian soul, wherein there is faith, humility, and obe-
dience, will not fail to see the right way to salvation by that light which
lightens the Gentiles, and is a glory to Israel.

^* So named from his Liher Sententiarum, the standard book of Scholastic Theology,
which appeared in 1172.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 271

There is an invisible Church, whereof Christ is the head ; the mem-
bers of which are linked together by faith, hope, and charity. By faith
in Christ, not in the Pope. Popes are no unerring rule, for Popes have
erred : witness the condemnation and suppression of Sixtus Quintus's
Bible by his successor '\ Witness the successions of Anti-Popes for a
long tract of time.

There is a secret unction, an inward light and joy, that attends the
sincere fervent love of God and His truth, which enables men to go on
with all cheerfulness and hope in the Christian warfare. You ask, How
I shall discern or know this } I answer much more easily than I can
that this particular man, or this particular society of men, is an unerring
rule. Of the former I have an inward feeling, jointly with the internal,
as well as exterior, \6yo^, to inform me. But for the latter I have only
the Pope's word, and that of his followers.

It is dangerous arguing from our notion of the expediency of a thing
to the reality of the thing itself. But I can plainly argue from facts
against the being of such an expedient. In the first centurys of the
Church, when heresies abounded, the expedient of a Pope, or Roman
oracle, was unknown, unthought of. There was then a Bishop of Rome ;
but that was no hindrance or remedy of divisions. Disputes in the
Cathohc Church were not ended by his authority. No recourse was had
to his infallibility ; an evident proof they acknowledged no such thing.
The date of his usurpations, and how they grew with his secular power,
you may plainly see in Giannoni's History ofNaples^^: I do not refer you
to a Protestant writer.

Men travelling in daylight see by one common light, though each with
his own eyes. If one man should say to the rest. Shut your eyes and
follow me, who can see better than you all ; this would not be well taken.
The sincere Christians of our communion are governed, or led, by the
inward light of God's grace, by the outward light of His written word,
by the ancient and Catholic traditions of Christ's Church, by the ordi-
nances of our national Church, which we take to consist all and hang
together. But then we see, as all must do, with our own eyes, by a
common light, but each with his own private eyes. And so must you
too, or you will not see at all. And, not seeing at all, how can you

'■' The reference is to tlie Vulgate, authen- tholics in Gibson's Preservative against

ticated by the Council of Trent, and com- Popery.

manded by Pope Sixtus V in 1590 to be '"^ Pietro Giannoni (1676 — 1748) devoted

adopted by the Church; two years after- twenty years of learned research to this cele-

wards condemned, and ordered to be sup- brated History, the freedom and candour of

pressed by his successor Clement VIII. This which brought upon him the lasting hostility

is presented as a dilemma to Roman Ca- of the Church. He died in prison at Turin.

272 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

chuse a Church ? why prefer that of Rome to that of England ? Thus
far, and in this sense, every man's judgement is private as well as ours.
Some, indeed, go further ; and, without regard to the Holy Spirit, or the
Word of God, or the writings of the primitive Fathers, or the universal
uninterrupted traditions of the Church, will pretend to canvass every
mystery, every step of Providence, and reduce it to the private standard
of their own fancy ; for reason reaches not those things. Such as these
I give up and disown, as well as you do.

I grant it is meet that the Law of Christ should, like other laws, have
magistrates to explain and apply it. But then, as in the civil State, a
private man may know the law enough to avoid transgressing it, and also
to see whether the magistrates deviate from it into tyranny : even so, in
the other case, a private Christian may know, and ought to know, the
written law of God, and not give himself up blindly to the dictates of the
Pope and his assessors. This, in effect, would be destroying the law,
and erecting a despotic government instead thereof. It would be
deserting Christ, and taking the Pope for his master.

I think it my duty to become a little child to Christ and His Apostles,
but not to the Pope and his courtiers. That many honest and well-
meaning men live under such thraldom I freely admit, and am sorry for
it. I trust that God will have compassion on them, as knowing how
they were educated, and the force of first impressions. But we, who
never had their education, cannot plead their prejudices.

Light and heat are both found in a religious mind duly disposed.
Light, in due order, goes first. It is dangerous to begin with heat, that
is, with the affections. To balance earthly affections by spiritual affec-
tions is right. But our affections should grow from enquiry and delibe-
ration; else there is danger of our being superstitious or enthusiasts.
An affection conceived towards a particular Church, upon reading some
spiritual authors of that communion, which might have left a byas in the
mind, is, I apprehend, to be suspected. Most men act with a byas.
God knows how far my education may have byassed me against the
Church of Rome, or how far a love of retreat and a fine climate may
byas me towards it. It is our duty to try and divest ourselves of all byas
whatsoever.

Whatever unguarded expressions may be found in this or that Pro-
testant divine, it is certainly the doctrine of our Church that no par-
ticular Church, or congregation of believers, is infallible. We hold all
mankind to be peccable and errable, even the Pope himself, with all that
belong to him. We are like men in a cave, in this present life, seeing
by a dim light through such chinks as the Divine goodness hath opened

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 273

to us^^ We dare not talk in the high, unerring, positive style of the
Romanists. We confess that ' we see through a glass darkly' (i Cor,
xiii. 12); and rejoice that we see enough to determine our practice, and
excite our hopes.

An humble, devout penitent believer, not byassed by any terrene
affections, but sincerely aiming and endeavouring, by all the means God
hath given him, to come at truth, need not fear being admitted into the
Kingdom of God without the Pope's passport. There is indeed an
invisible Church whereof Christ is head ; linked together by charity,
animated with the same hope, sanctified by the same Spirit, heirs of the
same promise. This is the Universal Church, militant and triumphant :
the militant, dispersed in all parts of Christendom, partaking of the same
Word and Sacraments. There are also visible, political or national
Churches : none of which is Universal. It would be a blunder to say
particular universal. And yet, I know not how, the style of Roman
Catholic hath prevailed. The members of this universal Church are not
visible by outward marks, but certainly known only to God, whose Spirit
will sanctifie and maintain it to the end of time.

The Church is a calling, eKKXrjo-La : ' Many are called, but few are
chosen.' (S. Matt. xxii. 14.) Therefore there is no reckoning the elect
by the number of visible members. There must be the invisible grace,
as well as the outward sign ; the spiritual life and holy unction to make
a real member of Christ's invisible Church. The particular Churches of
Jerusalem, Antioch, Alexandria, Rome, &c. have all fallen into error.
(Art. XIX.) And yet, in their most corrupt and erroneous state, I
believe they have included some true members of that body whereof
' Christ is head ; ' of that building whereof He is ' the corner stone.'
(Ephes. iv. 15 ; ii. 20.) ' Other foundation can no man lay,' but on this
foundation. There may be superstructures of ' hay stubble' (i Cor. iii.
II, 12), and much contemptible trash, without absolutely annihilating
the Church. This I take to have been evidently the case. Christ's
religion is spiritual and supernatural ; and there is an unseen cement of
the faithful, who draw grace from the same source, are enlightened by
he same ' Father of lights ' (James i. 1 7), and sanctified by the same
Spirit. And this, although they may be members of different political
or visible congregations, may be estranged, or suspected, or even excom-
municate to each ocher. They may be loyal to Christ, however divided
among themselves. This is the charitable belief of the true sons of our
Church ; however contrary to the damning temper of Rome, and the
sour severity of Dissenters.

" So Plato. Cf. Siris, sect. 367, and its general tone.
VOL. IV. T

2 74 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

To explain this by a familiar instance. When King Charles II.
was at Brussels, he had friends in England of different factions, and
suspected, or even hated, each by other ; who yet alike wished the King
well, and corresponded with him, though not with one another. The
King knew his loyal subjects, though they were not known, owned, or
trusted mutually. They all promoted his return, though by different
schemes; and, when he came to his kingdom, they all rejoiced with
him.

But perhaps you will say there is need of an infallible visible guide for
the soul's quiet. But of what use is an infallible guide without an infal-
lible sign to know him by"^ ? We have often seen Pope against Pope, and
Council against Council. What or whom shall we follow in these con-
tests, but the written Word of God, the Apostolical traditions, and the
internal light of the Xoyos, that irradiates every mind, but is not equally
observed by all ^'^ ? If you say, notwithstanding these helps and lights, that
we are still weak, and have weak eyes ; in a word, that we may err :
I say, so may you. Man is fallible; and God knows it; and God is just.
I am more easy on these principles, and this way of thinking, than if I
tamely and slothfully gave myself up to be ridden and hoodwinked by
the Pope, or by any other visible judge upon earth.

The security and repose of souls is pretended or promised to be had
in the bosom of the Roman Church. But, I think, least of all to be
hoped for, in a Church which, by her doctrine of the priest's intention
being necessary to the efficacy of Sacraments, must raise in every think-
ing member infinite and indissoluble scruples. Since it is acknowledged
that many Infidels and Jews and Mahometans have been ordained, and
possessed all degrees of dignity, and administered all Sacraments, in the
Church of Rome : therefore all Sacraments derived either mediately or
immediately from such, were ineffectual : therefore, no particular mem-
ber can know, upon the principles of the Church of Rome, whether he is
a Christian or not : therefore, that very Church, which sets up above all
others for making men easy and secure within her communion, is,
indeed, more than any other, calculated for producing doubts and
scruples, such as I do not see possible how they should be solved or
quieted upon her principles.

You seem to think the numerousness of her sons an argument
of her truth. But it is admitted the Mahometans are more numerous
than the Christians; and that the Arians, once upon a time, were

'^ So argued in tracts contained in Gib- the Scriptures,
son's Preservative. The Romanists retort '^ The Xofos, and the ' inward light,' now
by an argumentum ad bominem, as against appear in Berkeley, and more fully after-
Protestant defenders of the infallibility of wards in Siris.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 275

more numerous than the Orthodox. Therefore, that argument con-
cludes nothing.

As for her miracles, which you think so well attested that thinking
Protestants dare not deny them, I declare honestly that the best attested
of her miracles that I have met with, and the only that seemed to have
any verisimilitude, were those said to be performed at the tomb of Abbe
Paris ^''; and those are not admitted by the Church of Rome herself. I
have read, enquired, and observed myself, when abroad, concerning their
exorcisms, and miracles ^^ ; and must needs say they all appeared so many
gross impositions. As for the miracles said to be performed in foreign
missions, I can give no credit to them (I judge by what accounts I have
seen) ; and, if you will be at the trouble of perusing the Lettres idifiantes
el curieiises, e'crites des Missions Etrangeres, printed at Paris, perhaps you
may think of them as I do.

As for the Roman Saints and Martyrs, please to read their legends, or
even the canonizations of the last century, since Rome hath been
enlightened and something reformed by our Reformation, for those of
St. Pietro d'Alcantra and St. Magdalena de Pazzi. I believe you never
read of anything like them and their marvellous wonders, which never-
theless were admitted for authentic by Pope and Cardinals. I myself saw
and conversed with a woman at Genoa, a reputed Saint, whose head I
met three years after, encircled with rays, to be sold among other pictures
in the great square of Leghorn. This same Saint appeared to me very
manifestly a vile lying hypocrite, though much extolled and admired.

I never saw any character of a Popish Martyr that came up to that of
Jerome of Prague, one of the first Reformers ; for which I refer you to
Poggius, and JEneas Sylvius, who was eye-witness to his behaviour, and
afterwards became Pope.

Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer were, I think, good men, and acted on
good motives. So was Jewell a very good man. I wish you'd read his
little Latin book in defence of the Reformation ^l I have not seen it these
thirty years ; but remember I liked it well. Hooker, Usher, Dodwell,
Fell, Hammond, and many more Protestants of our Church, had piety
equal to their learning.

2" An ascetic who died in France in 1727. the Lettres edifiantes, referred to in the

After his death miracles were said to have next sentence, appeared between 1 7 1 7 and

been wrought by his rehcs and at his grave, 1776, in },2 vols.

which occasioned a famous controverfy at ""'' Jewell's Apologia Ecclesia Anglicana,

the time. They are referred to by Hume which appeared in 1562, drew great atten-

in his Essav on ' Miracles.' See also Doug- tion at the time, and was translated into

las's Criterion, and Paley's Evidences of various languages. The Council of Trent

Christianity. appointed two of its members to answer it.

^' Cf. pp. 69, 70. The first edition of which was never done.

T 2

276 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH.

Basil Kennet[t], Chaplain to the factory of Leghorn in Queen Anne's
reign, was esteemed and called a Saint by the Papists themselves, as the
English merchants there assured me. On the other hand, in so many
converts, and such a numerous clergy, that there may be found sundry
good and learned men, I make no doubt, whose learning and piety are
skilfully made use of and applied by the Court of Rome to extend her
influence and credit.

You mention monasteries to have been anciently regarded as schools
of Divine Philosophy. But there is, by what I can find, no similitude
between ancient and modern monks. Compare what St. Bernard, in his
treatise De Vita Solitarid, saith of the monks of Thebais, with what you
will see in the monasteries of Flanders. I fear there is no corruption,
or perversion, worse than that of a monastic life.

It seems very expedient that the world should have, among the many
formed for action, some also formed for contemplation, the influence
whereof might be general and extend to others. But to get men and
women to a contemplative life, who are neither fitted nor addicted to
contemplation, is a monstrous abuse. To assist the Xuo-ij and (^vyTy of
the Soul by meditation was a noble purpose, even in the eyes of Pagan
Philosophy-^. How much more so in the eyes of Christians, whose
philosophy is of all others the most sublime, and the most calculated
to wean our thoughts from things carnal, and raise them above things
terrestrial !

That the contemplative and ascetic life may be greatly promoted by
living in community and by rules, I freely admit. The institution of the
Essenes among the Jews, or the Republic of Philosophers, that was to
have been setded in a city to have been built by the direction of Plotinus^*,
in the territory of Capua, if the Emperor Gallienus had not changed his
mind ; — such institutions as these give delightful images, but very diff"erent
from anything that I could ever see in a Popish convent ; and I have
seen and known many of them.

I should like a convent without a vow, or perpetual obligation. Doubt-
less, a college or monastery (not a resource for younger brothers, not a
nursery for ignorance, laziness, and superstition) receiving only grown
persons of approved piety, learning, and a contemplative turn, would be
a great means of improving the Divine Philosophy, and brightening up the
face of religion in our Church. But I should still expect more success

^ This was a growing sentiment with life at Rome, where he died, A.D. 270. He

Berkeley now, which showed itself soon after projected a cit}' in Campania on the model

in his writings. Cf. Sirh, sect. 302, 358. of the Republic of Plato. Berkeley was now

^* Plotinus, the Neoplatonist of Alexan- drawing towards Plotinus and the Neoplato-

dria, spent the last twenty-five years of his nists, as we see soon after this in Sir'n.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloync. 277

from a number of gentlemen, living independently at Oxford^', who made
divine things their study, and proposed to wean themselves from what is
called the world.

You remark on the badness of men and views that seem to have con-
curred in the Reformation. That there may be some truth in the
charge, I will not deny. But I deny that this can be an argument
against the Reformation ; since you seem to grant yourself that the
Church of Rome hath been reformed on occasion of our Reformation,
which yet you condemn. Evil men and councils may sometimes be the
occasion of good. And it is on all hands admitted that God knows how
to extract good from evil.

The charge of Idolatry on the Church of Rome (which you make so
light of) is, I fear, not without foundation. For, although the learned
may, and do, distinguish between a relative respect for images, and an
absolute worship of them"" ; yet it cannot be doubted that the use made
of them becomes a great snare to the multitude. I myself, by talking to
some common people in Italy, found they worshipped images with an
adoration as formal and stupid as any heathen idolater. And both I
and every other traveller must see (and the best men among themselves
are scandalized to see it) that the Blessed Virgin is often prayed to and
more worshipped than God Himself.

You speak of the unity and peace of the Church of Rome, as an effect
of the Spirit of God presiding in it, and of the doctrine of an infallible
head. But the fact is denied. Successions of Anti-Popes with horrible
dissensions, violent measures and convulsions ensuing thereupon, suf-
ficiently show the contrary. The Court of Rome, it must be owned, hath
learned the Venetian policy of silencing her sons, and keeping them
quiet thmugh fear. But where there breathes a little spirit of learning
and freedom, as in France ; or, where distance has lessened respect, as
in China; there have often appeared, and ever and anon continue to
appear, great struggles, parties, and divisions, both in matters of faith
and discipline. And, where they are quiet, their union seems, so far as
I can judge, a political union, founded in secular power and arts, rather
than an effect of any divine doctrine or spirit.

Those who are conversant in history plainly see by what secular arts
the Papal power was acquired. To history, therefore, I refer you. In
the mean time, I cannot forbear making one remark which I know not

25 Here first Berkeley speaks of Oxford those whom they represent or symbolise-
as the scene of an ideal life. after the analogy of family pictures, &c.

'^^ So in Bossuet's Exposition, sect. 5, where Cf. also references in Berkeley's I'alian

he defends images as means of sustaining in Tot/r.
devout persons the religious remembrance of

2j8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

whether it hath been made by others. Rome seems to have cut her own

throat by the forgery of Constantine's Donation-', in which there is this

remarkable clause : Decernentes sancimus, ut Romana Ecclesia principatum

temat tarn super quatuor sedes, Alexandnnam, Antiochmam, Hierosolymi-

tanam, ac Constantinopolitanam, quam etiam super omnes in universo orbe

terrarum Dei ecclesias.

Doth not this look like an acknowledgment that the see of Rome

oweth her pre-eminence to the appointment of Constantine the Great,

and not to any divine right ?

******

[/« this part of the MS. four pages are wanting. In what follcrtvs, chasms

are supplied here and there by tvords within lracJ:ets^

many innovations are in theirs, which v/e account repugnant to the Word

of God, and the primitive traditions. Therefore, a Papist of any tolerable

reason, though bred up in the Roman Church, may, nevertheless, with

a good conscience, occasionally join in our worship ; and I have known

this done. ]May I not therefore hope that you will continue to do it, and

not, in perfect complaisance to the Pope, renounce and damn us all .' In the

mean time, you may deliberate, continue your impartial inquir}-, and well

weigh yoiu- steps, before you range under the Pope and receive his mark.

I had forgot to say a word of Confession, which you mention as an
advantage in the Church of Rome which is not to be had in ours. But
it may be had in our communion, by any who please to have it ; and, I
admit, it may be very usefully practised. But, as it is managed in the
Church of Rome, I apprehend it doth infinitely more mischief than good.
Their casuistry seemeth a disgrace, not only to Christianity, but even to
the light of nature.

As Plato thanked the gods that he was born an Athenian, so I think
it a peculiar blessing to have been educated in the Church of England.
INIy prayer,, nevertheless, and trust in God is, not that I shall live and die
in this Church, but in the true Church. For, after all, in respect of
religion, our attachment should only be to the truth'-*. I might, therefore,
own myself a Httle surprised upon observing that you concluded your
letter with declaring — You trust, by God's grace, to live and die in the
Church of Rome, I can easily suppose that the expression was a slip ;
but I can never suppose that all [the] skill and arts of Rome can destroy
your candour.

You will pardon the freedom of an old friend, who speaks his thoughts
bluntly, just as they come, to one who used to be [a man] of frankness

^ A forgery which appeared in the ninth ceatury, in which Charlemagne is exhorted ta
imitate the great Constantine. ^ So afterwards in Siris, sect. 368.

viii.] PhilautJi7^opy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 279

without forms. If I have exceeded in this kind, impute it to haste, as
well as my repetitions, inaccuracies, and want of order. You set me a
time ; and I have obeyed as I could ; hoping that your own thought will
give clearness and method to my broken and indigested hints.

To your own thoughts I appeal, trusting that God will give you grace
to think for yourself, and to exert that sharpness of judgement, which He
has given you, with double diligence, in this most weighty affair. There
are some writings of my Lord Falkland's, concerning the Infallibility of
the Roman Church, bound up in the second volume of Dr. Hammond's
works, together with some learned arguments in behalf of the Church of
Rome -^. I have not read those writings ; but on the reputation of Lord
Falkland, venture to recommend [them] to your perusal.

The importance of the subject, together with my esteem and affection
for you, have run me into a greater length than I intended : which if you
are so good as to pardon this once, I promise to be more succinct and
methodical another time, if you think fit to favour me with an answer.
In which case I would entreat you to number your paragraphs with
figures prefixed, which will govern and shorten my answer.

The years I have lived, the pains I have taken, and the distempers I
labour under, make me suspect I have not long to live. And, certainly,
my remnant of life, be it what it will, could be spun out delightfully in
the sun and the fresco, among the fountains and grottos, the music, the
antiquities, the fine arts and buildings of Rome, if I could once recom-
mend myself to her religion. But I trust in God, those fla . . . things
shall never bribe my judgement. Dress therefore your batteries against
my reason ; attack me by the dry light * * * assign me some good
reason why I should not use my reason, but submit at once to his
Holiness's will and pleasure. Though you are conqueror, I shall be a
gainer. In the work of truth I am ready to hear and canvass with the
best of * * * skill, whatever you shall be so good to offer.

To your kind enquiry about my health, I can say that, though I am
not well, yet I am less bad than I was a year ago ; and that . . . minal
disorders seem to quit me, though with a leisurely pace. [My fam]ily is
a great comfort to me. My wife, who is just recovered from an illness,
alwaies remembers you with the highest esteem ; and interests herself in
your welfare. She sends her compliments ; but knows nothing of the
subject of our correspondence. If she did, I doubt it would make her
think better of the Church of Rome, in which she liked some things
when she was in France. She is become a great farmer of late. In

^ Of the InfallibnUy of the Church of Rome. A discourse written by the Lord Viscount

Falkland (1645).

28o Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

these hard times we employ above a hundred men every day in agri-
culture of one kind or other ; all which my wife directs. This is a
charity, which pays itself. At least the Domaine of this see will gain by
it. Oh ! that you had a farm of a hundred acres near Oxford ! What a
pleasure it would be to improve and embellish the face of nature, to lead
the life of a patriarch rather than a friar, a modern cloystered friar ! My
wife finds in it a fund of health and spirits, beyond all the fashionable
amusements in the world. Dear Sir, you have the best wishes and most
hearty prayers of your most obedient and affectionate servant,

G. CLOYNE.

Sir John James, who vt'as, I believe, the last baronet of the line,
died about three months after this letter was written. From
Berkeley's friendship for him, and any incidental notices, we may
conclude that he was one of a thoughtful and noble nature — who
lived above what is called ' the world,' making the pursuit of truth
and the unum necessartum his chief business ^".

The Rev. Dr. Robert Berkeley, referred to in the preceding
correspondence as ' my brother Robin,' was settled in 1741 as
Rector of Midleton, about three miles from Cloyne, to spend
there the remainder of his long life. He was also for almost half
a century Treasurer of Cloyne and Vicar-General of the diocese.
He lived at Ballinacurra, near Midleton, in the northern valley
of Imokilly. This was a new domestic interest, and much family
intercourse naturally followed between Cloyne and Ballinacurra.
Robert Berkeley, as already mentioned, was born ' near Thurles,'
about the end of the seventeeth century. He entered Trinity
College, Dublin, in June 1717, and became a Scholar in
1719. He was admitted Treasurer of Cloyne, and also suc-
ceeded the Rev. Walter Atkin as Rector of Templcnecarrigy in
February 1741. In June 1742, he was confirmed Vicar-General by

^^ Died, September 28, 1741. Sir John Cloyne, and received in reply " a thunder-
James, Bart., aged 47 (Gent. Mag.). The ing letter," as Mr. Dalton called it, saying.
Editor of Monck Berkeley's Poems writes " Do you tell James that I will not have his
as follows : — ' I have often been told by fortune. Bid him leave it to his relations.
Bishop Berkeley's learned, agreeable friend, I won't have it." Sir John, on hearing th's,
Richard Dalton, Esq., that his friend Sir bequeathed it to the old Chevalier de St.
John James, B;irt. told Bishop Benson that George — so, of course, his relations got it.
he had bequeathed his very large estate. He had, after Bishop Berkeley went to
excepting a few legacies, to his dear friend Cloyne, become a Papist.' {Pre/ace to Monck
Bishop Berkeley. B'shop Benson wrote what Berkeley, p. cccclx, note.)
he, lovely man, thought the pleasant news to

VIII.] Philajitliropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 281

the Chapter. In 1734, he married, at Dublin, Anne Elizabeth
Dawson, of the family of Castle Dawson, who died in March 1748,
and whose tomb, with a Latin inscription by her husband (the only
production of his pen now remaining of which I am aware) may
be seen in Midleton churchyard. They had four sons and four
daughters ^^

The two letters to Gervais which follow introduce us to the
events of 1742. Gervais was probably at Dublin when he wrote.
Besides allusions to tar-water, they touch upon the political changes
of the time. The long peace which the country had enjoyed,
almost since the accession of the House of Brunswick, was ended,
and England was now involved in the wars which followed the ac-
cession of Maria Theresa to the throne of Hungary, in which the
young Queen and Frederick of Prussia were the principal figures.
Sir Robert Walpole's administration of more than twenty years,
of which the peaceful consolidation of the Hanoverian dynasty was
the guiding policy, was about to close.

Cloyne, Jafi. 12, 1742.

You forgot to mention your address ; else I should have sooner
acknowledged the favour of your letter, for which I am much obliged,
though the news it contained had nothing good but the manner of telling
it. I had much rather write you a letter of congratulation than of com-
fort ; and yet I must needs tell you for your comfort, that I apprehend
you miscarry by having too many friends. We often see a man with one
only at his back pushed on and making his way, while another is em-
barrassed in a crowd of well-wishers. The best of it is, your merits will

^' The sons were: — i. George, born 1735, of the late General Sackville Berkeley, to

vicar-choral of Cork in 1769, married in whose son, the Rev. Sackville Berkeley, I

1772, and died in 1804. 2. Joshua, born am indebted for the sight of a Plato

1742, Dean of Tuam from 1782 till his presented to his grandfather, in 1751,

death at Bristol in 1807. 3. William, born by Bishop Berkeley. The Plato (Basil.

1:47, ^^s licensed by his father to the 1556) contains some MS. annotations by

curacy of Midleton in April 1772, held an unknown hand. The first page is thus

various ecclesiastical preferments in the inscribed : ' This book was given as a

diocese of Cloyne, and died in 1 8 14. present by the Rt. Rev. George Berkeley,

4. Robert, died in 1807 Of the four the Ld. Bp. of Cloyne, to me, the 21st day

daughters, Arabella married the Right Hon. of November, I 751. George Berkeley, Balli-

Sackville Hamilton, M.P. Mary was the nacurra, County of Corke, Ireland.' Robert

wife of the Rev. Dr. Francis Atterbury, Berkeley, QjC., Dublin (who possesses an

praecentor of Cloyne from 1770 till his interesting portrait of Berkeley, said to have

death in 1822, and grandson of Bishop been taken when he was in Italy), is another

Atterbiiry ; and Elizabeth and Anne were grandson of the Rev. George Berkeley. Dr.

unmarried. Robert Berkeley died in August 1787, and

Dr. Berkeley's eldest son George was father was buried at Midleton.

282

Life and Letters of Berkeley.

[cii.

not be measured by your success. It is an old remark, that the race is
not always to the swift. But at present who wins it, matters little ; for
all protestant clergymen are Hke soon to be at par, if that old priest ^^
your countryman, continues to carry on his schemes with the same policy
and success he has hitherto done. The accounts you send agree with
what I hear from other parts ; they are all alike dismal. Reserve your-
self, however, for future times, and mind the main chance. I would say,
shun late hours, drink tar-water, and bring back (I wish a good deanery,
but at least) a good stock of health and spirits to grace our little parties
in Imokilly^^ where we hope, ere it be long, to see you and the sun

^'^ Cardinal Fleury, who was prime
minister of France from 1726 till he died,
in January 1743, in his 90th year. He ruled
France while Walpole ruled England, both
of them in the interest of peace.

'^ I have no actual picture of those ' little
parties' as they were in Berkeley's time,
but I have now before me a distinct one
of very similar social ongoings at and around
Cloyne, about twenty years after Berkeley's
death, in the form of a daily MS. Diary for
the year 1773, kept at Ballinacurra by the
Rev. William Berkeley, curate of Midle'on,
mentioned in the note before the last. The
Diary contains a careful daily register of
the weather in the neighbourhood of Cloyne,
and anecdotes of the families in Imokilly
(those whom Bishop Berkeley was in the
way of visiting, and being visited by,) and
their little parties — the Inchiquins, Shannons,
Longfields, Lumleys, Fitzgeralds, Haymans,
Berkelevs of Ballinacurra, &c. I venture to
offer a few extracts taken at random : —

'''Jan. 1st. At home busy at a sermon.
Mary and Betty [his sisters] at Aghada
[Dr. Atterbury's]. 4th. Out shooting with
J. Hanning at Castle Mary. 6th. Set out
for Lismore at half past 10 a m. — the
day remarkably fine and clear. [Then an
account of the visit to Lismore, on that
and the following days.] 9th. Set out
in the little chaise between 9 and 10, and
got to Cork quarter before 1 1 — finished
my business and left by 2 [for Ballinacurra].
loth. Large congregation at church. Heard
from Stock [afterwards Bishop Stock]. Feb.
2nd. Lord Inchiquin dangerously ill. 4th.
Dined at Cloyne with the Registrar [Han-
ning]. lOth. Dined at Lord Shannon's, where
we met Atterbury, Mary, Julia, Mrs. Pigot,
&c. 18th. Out sailing in a new boat with
Wat. Hayman. Nancy and Julia came to

dinner from Castlemartyr. 1 8th. Dined at
Mocklers, where we met the Bishop ',
Bushe, Kingston, &c. 19th. Dined at the
Bishop of Cloyne's— wind very high going
there. 26th. Dined at Castle Mary, where
were Mr. Lumley [Ballinialoe], Mr. Lawless,
&c. 27th. This day eleven years taken
prisoner by the French. 28th. Mrs. Daw-
son and her daughters went to Cloyne
Church. Lambert preached for me at
Midleton. March ist. We heard of poor
Capt. Rugge's having had an attack of
apoplexy. 2nd. Dinsd at Ballymaloe. 7th.
Yesterday sent down the yawl to look for
the vessel in which George [his brother] is
coming [from England], but without suc-
cess. 9th. Sent down the boat to Cove to
enquire whether the vessel be come About
2 p.m. the boat returned with George. He
arrived in the harbour at 5 a.m , having
sailed from Bristol on Saturday [this was
written on Tuesday] about 9 o'clock, and
had a most agreeable passage. loth. The
Bishop dined here. 15th. Rode to Bally-
maloe and met Mr. Longfield hunting with
J. Hanning, &c. Met Mr. Lumley and
Mr Breviter on Cloyne hill. 17th. George
read prayers for me at Midleton. All dined
at Rostellan. Mrs. Longfield, Miss Uniake,
and the Bishop of Cloyne there. 28th.
Dined at the Bishop's. 30th. Heard from
Stock — a farewell letter on his setting out
to take the grand tour. 31st. Atterbury
and Mary here. The Bishop of Cloyne
dined here. April 8th. Went in the morn-
ing to Cloyne to the Bishop's Court. We
all dined at the Bishop's. Grand Concert.
gth. My father [Dr. Robert Berkeley] went
to Castle Mary after we came from church,
loth. Set out about 7 a.m. for Cork, and
got there to breakfast, returning through
Blarney, and dined at Glanmire. The

'^ Charles Agar, D.D., was Bishop of
Cloyne, 1768-79, when he was translated
to Cashel, and in iSoi to Dublin. He was

created Baron Somerton in 1795, and Earl
of Normanton in 1806.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 28;

returned together. My wife, who values herself on being in the number
of your friends, is extremely obliged for the Italian psalms you have pro-
cured, and desires me to tell you, that the more you can procure, the
more she shall be obliged. We join in wishing you many happy new
years, health, and success.

^ Cloy fie, Feb. 2, 1742.

I CONDOLE with you on your cold, a circumstance that a man of fashion
who keeps late hours can hardly escape. We find here that a spoonful,
half tar and half honey, taken morning, noon, and night, proves a most
effectual remedy in that case. My wife, who values herself on being in

Doctor [his father] dined at Chinnery's.
16th. Lord and Lady Inchiquin, Captain
Moore, Miss Bulien dined here. I went in
the evening to a concert at the Bishop's,
where were Lord and Lady Shannon, Mary,
Atterbury, and Annabel!, and all the choir.
17th. Dined at Lord Shannon's. The
Bishop there. 19th We all dined at the
Bishop's. I rode. The rest visited at Ros-
tellan, before they went. Met Lady Shan-
non, Atterbury, &c. No music. 23rd.
Went in the evening to the Bishop's to the
concert, where were all the choir. [There
seems to have been a weekly concert at the
Bishop's.] May 7th. Dined at the Bishop's.
My father, &c., called at Castlemartyr on
their wsy. I went directly to Cloyne. Mr.
and Mrs. Uniake dined there Lord and Lady
Shannon came in the evening to the concert.
Returned home about 10.30, clear star light.
1 2th. The Bishop of Cloyne, Major and
Mrs. Folliott, Mr. and Mrs. Mockler, and R.
Uniake dined here. 19th. Sent Paddy for
the plants to Castle Mary. 21st. Captain
Rugge dined here. 30th. (Sunday) On our
return from church overtook Mr. Lum-
Icy, who informed us of the arrival of the
London East Indiaman in Cork Harbour
yesterday afternoon. He and I agreed to go
on board her to-morrow. 31st. Set out in
my boat for the Indiaman about 10 a m.
with Miss Luniley and Folliott. Took in
J. Hanning at Goold's Point. Vast crowds
of people. Dined at Cove. June 1st. Went
with the Doctor to church and a vestry
afterwards. Mr. Lumley dined here. 2nd.
Rode to Ballycottin and returned through
Cloyne. 1 7th. Captain and Mrs. Rugge,
and R. Uniake drank tea here. 25th.
Went to see ' Lionel and Clarissa' performed
by a set of strolling players who did toler-
ably well. 28th. J. Hanning called here.
He rode with George and I to Cloyne.
We went to wait on the Bishop. Some

time afterwards rode with Mr. Lumley to
see Mr. Longfield's bleech green and mills.
July 2nd. Nancy, Annabella, and I went
to Cloyne this evening. The concert as
usual. Lady Shannon, Mrs. Uniake, Col.
Sandford, Capt. Moore, two Bob Uniakes,
and all the singing men there. We all
stayed to supper. 22nd. The Bishop of
Cloyne, Lord and Lady Inchiquin, Mr.
Bulien, and Capt. Moore dined here, and
drank tea in the pavilion.'

And so on through the summer of 1773-
I might fill many pages with similar extracts.
In October the Imokilly families move to
Dublin. On the 5th the Bishop goes there,
and on the 7th Lord and Lady Inchiquin. fol-
lowed by the Longfields on the 8th, and after-
wards by Lord and Lady Shannon. The
Bishop's Court is held at Dr. R. Berkeley's, at
Ballinacurra, in the winter absence. In early
winter the country was dull and rainy, but
some shooting with J. Hanning now and
then on the hill at Castle Mary, or above
Cloyne, or on the Common, and occasional
visits to Atterbury's, dinners at Ballymaloe,
or Corkbeg, or at Shanagary, and visits to
Mockler, Breviter, and Stopford, prebend-
aries, or vicars-choral, at Cloyne, and to
Lismore, helped to enliven life in that re-
mote region. The ' Doctor ' was often at
Mr. Hanning's at Cloyne. Towards the
end of December ' most dreary, gloomy, dis-
mal weather, and great floods in the Black-
water, Suir, and Nore.' ' Mr. and Mrs.
Folliott and J. Hanning here — played cards
in the evening.' ' Mr. Katterfelto, the elec-
trician, came from Midleton and exhibited.'
On another day ' the Major went to Fer-
moy.' The Diary ends when the writer
himself goes to Dublin, with Mr. Longficld of
Castle Mary as his travelling companion.

For the use of this interesting Diary, I am
indebted to Dr. Thomas Wise, of London,
who lived for some years at Rostellan Castle.

284 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

your good graces, expresses great gratitude for your care in procuring
the psalms, and is doubly pleased with the prospect of your being your-
self the bearer. The instrument she desired to be provided was a large
four-stringed bass violin : but, besides this, we shall also be extremely
glad to get that excellent bass viol which came from France, be the
number of strings what it will. I wrote indeed (not to overload you) to
Dean Browne'* to look out for a six-stringed bass viol of an old make and
mellow tone. But the more we have of good instruments, the better ; for
I have got an excellent master, whom I have taken into my family, and all
my children, not excepting my little daughter, learn to play, and are pre-
paring to fill my house with harmony against all events : that if we have
worse times, we may have better spirits. Our French woman is grown
more attentive to her business, and so much altered for the better, that
my wife is not now inclined to part with her, but is nevertheless very
sensibly obliged by your kind offer to look out for another. What you
say of a certain pamphlet is enigmatical ; I shall hope to have it explained
•viva voce.

As this corner furnishes nothing worth sending, you will pardon me if,
instead of other news, I transcribe a paragraph of a letter I lately received
from an English bishop. ' We are now shortly to meet again in par-
liament, and by the proceedings upon the state of the nation Sir Robert's
fate will be determined. He is doing all he can to recover a majority in
the House of Commons, and is said to have succeeded as to some par-
ticulars. But in his main attempt, which was that of uniting the Prince
and his court to the King's, he has been foiled. The bishop of Oxford
was employed to carry the proposal to the Prince, which was, that he
should have the £100,000 a year he had demanded, and his debts paid.
But the Prince, at the same time that he expressed the utmost respect and
duty to his Majesty, declared so much dislike to his Minister, that with-
out his removal he will hearken to no terms ^^' I have also had another
piece in the following words, which is ver}- agreeable. ' Lady Doroth}-,
whose good temper seems as great as her beauty, and who has gained
on every one by her behaviour in these most unhappy circumstances, is
said at last to have gained over Lord Euston ^^, and to have entirely won
his affection.'

'* Jemmet Browne, D.D., born at Cork in ^^ On the assembling of Parliament, in

1702, Dean of Ross, 1 733; Bishop of Kil- December I 741, Walpole was in a minority,

laloe, 1743. In 1745 he was translated to After an attempt to recover, he resigned

Cork, where he was for several ye.;rs Berke- on the 11th of February, and was created

ley's friend and neighbour. In 1772 he Earl of Orford. He died in 1745.

was moved from Cork to Elphin, and in 1 775 ^^ George Earl of Euston, eldest son of the

he was made Archbishop of Tuam. He was second Duke of Grafion, this year married

buried at Cork in 1782. It is said he was Dorothy, eldest daughter of the Earl of

a nephew of Bishop Peter Browne. Burlington — Berkeley's former patron.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 285

I find by your letter, the reigning distemper at the Irish Court is dis-
appointment. A man of less spirits and alacrity would be apt to cry out,
Spes et fortima valete, &c., but my advice is, never to quit your hopes.
Hope is often better than enjoyment. Hope is often the cause as well
as the effect of youth. It is certainly a very pleasant and healthy passion.
A hopeless person is deserted by himself ; and he who forsakes himself
is soon forsaken by friends and fortune, both which are sincerely a\ ished
you by, &c.

In the same month the letter which follows was sent to Prior at

Dublin :—

Cloy lie, Feb. 26, 1741 — 2.
Dear Tom,

I BELIEVE there is no relation that Mr. Sandys and Sir John Rushout
have to Lord Wilmington other than what I myself made by marryino-
Sir John Rushout's sister to the late Earl of Northampton, who was
brother to Lord Wilmington ^''. Sandys is nephew to Sir John. As to
kindred or affinity, I take it to have very little share in this matter ; nor
do I think it possible to foretel whether the ministry will be whig or tory.
The people are so generally and so much incensed, that (if I am rightly
informed) both men and measures must be changed before we see things
composed. Besides, in this disjointed state of things, the Prince's party
will be more considered than ever. It is my opinion there will be no
first minister in haste ; and it will be new to act without one. When I
had wrote thus far, I received a letter from a considerable hand on the
other side the water, wherein are the following words : ' Though the
whigs and tories had gone had in hand in their endeavours to demolish
the late ministry, yet some true whigs, to shew themselves such, were for
excluding all tories from the new ministry. Lord Wilmington and Duke
of Dorset declared they would quit if they proceeded on so narrow a
bottom ; and the Prince, Duke of Argyle, Duke of Bedford, and many
others, refused to come in, except there was to be a coalition of parties.
After many fruitless attempts to effect this, it was at last achieved between
eleven and twelve on Tuesday night ; and the Prince went next morning
to St. James's. It had been that very evening quite despaired of; and
the meeting of the parliament came in so fast, that there was a prospect
of nothing but great confusion.' There is, I hope, a prospect now of much

3' Anne, sister of George, fourth Earl of died in 1743. (There seems to be some

Northampton, married sir John Rushout, confusion in Berkeley's letter.) Mr. Sandys

Bart., father of the eighth Baron Northwick. was Chancellor of the Exchequer in Lord

Lord Northampton died in 1727. His bro- Wilmington's Cabinet, which succeeded

ther was created Earl of Wilmington, and Walpole's in 1742-

286 Life and Letters of Bej^keley. [ch.

better things. I much wanted to see this scheme prevail, which it has
now done ; and will, I trust, be followed by many happy consequences.
We are all yours. Adieu. Your affectionate humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.

You say that Swift, &c., acquainted me by letter of their receipt of
Purcel's bill ; but I have got no such letter.

In March we have the following letter to Gervais, which exhausts

the epistolary material of 1742 : —

[Cloyne\ March 5, 1742.

Your last letter, containing an account of the Queen of Hungary and
her affairs, was all over agreeable. My wife and I are not a little pleased
to find her situation so much better than we expected, and greatly
applaud your zeal for her interests, though we are divided upon the
motive of it. She imagines you would be less zealous were the Queen
old and ugly ; and will have it that her beauty has set you on fire even
at this distance. I, on the contrary, affirm, that you are not made of
such combustibk stuff; that you are affected only by the love of justice,
and insensible to all other flames than those of patriotism. We hope
soon for your presence at Cloyne to put an end to this controversy.

Your care in providing the Italian psalms set to music, the four-stringed
bass violin, and the antique bass viol, require our repeated thanks. We
have already a bass viol made in Southwark, A.D. 1730, and reputed
the best in England. And through your means we are possessed of the
best in France. So we have a fair chance for having the two best in
Europe.

Your letter gives me hopes of a new and prosperous scene. We live
in an age of revolutions so sudden and surprising in all parts of Europe,
that I question whether the like has been ever known before. Hands are
changed at home ®^ : it is well if measures are so too. If not, I shall be
afraid of this change of hands ; for hungry dogs bite deepest. But let
those in power look to this. We behold these vicissitudes with an
equal eye from the serene corner of Cloyne, where we hope soon to have
the perusal of your budget of politics. Mean time accept our service and
good wishes.

A letter from the Bishop of Gloucester ^^ reflects some light upon
Berkeley in the spring of 1 743, and refers to ecclesiastical arrange-
ments they were both interested in: —

^' The Wilmington Administration was now in power. ^^ Berkeley Papers.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 287

Berry Street, Westtnimter,

April 23, 1743.
My Dear Lord,

I DID not come up to attend the Session till it was half over, and it
being now at an end, I am hastening to quit the town and return to my
Diocese. Though I came up late, yet, when I was here, I thought I
was come up too soon, finding some points so doubtful that I did not
know how to vote at all, and others so clear that I was grieved to be
under a necessity of voting against the measures of men with whom I
have had a good deal of acquaintance, and of whom, when out of place,
I had a good opinion. But it was measures and not ministers I desired
to see changed. And as I have now little hope of ever seeing the for-
mer, I have less concern about the latter. ' The taking the Hanover
troops into English pay, if it was right in regard to our foreign affairs,
was certainly very unpolitic in regard to our domestic ones ; and there is
nothing but the necessity which is pretended which can in any degree
excuse an action, which it could not but be foreseen must occasion so
much jealousy, and which it is too plainly seen has occasioned not only
a dislike of Ministers, but some share of disloyalty even to the Throne
itself. If this step were allowed to be in reality as necessary, as some
have pleaded it to be, yet there cannot be the same plea of necessity for
an action which much more wanted it, and that is the method of raising
the sum to defray the expense of this measure. There was, I thought,
an absolute necessity of doing something to prevent the drinking of that
poison which is called gin, but, unhappily, the increasing of the vice was
found to be a way to increase the revenue ; and this is the fund chosen
to borrow the millions wanted upon. It passed pretty quietly through
the House of Commons, but the Lords opposed the Bill in every step of
its progress; and the whole Bench of Bishops who were present not
only voted, but most of them also protested against it.

As to the appointing of Rural Deans, your Lordship must know that
all our Dioceses here are divided into Archdeaconries, and evei-y Arch-
deaconry into so many Deaneries. In many Dioceses, Rural Deans are
still nominally appointed, though in few they exercise any kind of juris-
diction. My Diocese consists but of one Archdeaconry, and the Arch-
deacon was, when I came into it, near 90 years old ; so that if he were
willing, he was incapable to do much duty ; and while he was capable, I
found he had scarcely ever done any. So that upon account both of his
present infirmity and past neglect, there was great want in the Diocese
of somebody to assist both him and me in relation to the duties which
are reckoned more peculiarly incumbent upon the Archdeacon. One of

288 Life and Lettej^s of Berkeley. [cii.

these is to visit parochially all the churches, chapels, and houses of
incumbents within his district. This afforded me a fair handle for ap-
pointing Deans Rural to perform this work, and I shall send you a copy
of the commission I have given to them. This I thought could not be
reckoned improper in this kingdom where this was the ancient and is still
the regular form of government in each Diocese. But in Ireland, per-
haps, it may be a thing quite new, and your beginning it may give offence
both to the rest of the Bishops and to the Archdeacons, and also to the
inferior clergy.

Your most faithful servant and affectionate brother,

M. GLOCESTER.

Bishop Benson was an active restorer of the powers of Deans
Rural in his own diocese of Gloucester, although he does not
encourage his friend to follow his example at Cloyne. The office
of Rural Dean does not seem to have been at any time common in
Ireland. Berkeley was one of the few Irish bishops who, in last
century, attempted to revive the office. According to Harris, the
diocese of Cloyne was formerly divided into five rural deaneries,
but in Berkeley's time there were only four'^o.

Two scraps to Gervais, in the autumn of 1743, afford us
our only other glimpses of Berkeley in that year. One of them
alludes to his friend's promotion to the Deanery of Tuam, which
took place at this time : —

\Cloyne\ Septeviher 6, 1743.

The book which you were so good as to procure for me (and which
I shall not pay for till you come to receive the money in person) con-
tains all that part of Dr. Pococke's travels'*^ for which I have any curiosity ;
so I shall, with my thanks for this, give you no further trouble about any
other volume.

I find by the letter put into my hands by your son (who was so kind
as to call here yesterday, but not kind enough to stay a night with us),
that you are taken up with great matters, and, like other great men, in
danger of overlooking your friends. Prepare, however, for a world of
abuse, both as a courtier and an architect, if you do not find means to

*" See Harris's Ware. In Dansey's Ham " Travels in the Holy Land, by Richard

DecaniccB Rurales (1835), Bishop Benson's Pococke, D.D., appeared in 1743 — 45. Po-

letter of commission to those nominated rural cocke was afterwards Bishop of Ossory.
deans in the diocese of Gloucester is given.

VIII.] Pkiiantkropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 289

wedge in a visit to Cloyne between those two grand concerns. Courtiers
you will find none here, and but such virtuosi as the country affords ;
I mean in the way of music, for that is at present the reigning passion at
Cloyne. To be plain, we are musically mad. If you would know what
that is, come and see.

\Cloyne\, October 29, 1743.

A BIRD of the air has told me that your reverence is to be dean of
Tuam. No nightingale could have sung a more pleasing song, not even
my wife, who, I am told, is this day inferior to no singer in the kingdom.
I promise you we are preparing no contemptible chorus to celebrate
your preferment : and if you do not believe me, come this Christmas,
and believe your own ears. In good earnest, none of your friends will
be better pleased to see you with your broad seal in your pocket than
your friends at Cloyne. I wish I were able to wish you joy at Dublin ;
but my health, though not a little mended, suffers me to make no
excursions farther than a mile or two.

What is this your favourite, the Queen of Hungary, has been doing
by her emissaries at Petersburgh ? France is again upon her legs. I
foresee no good. I wish all this may be vapour and spleen : but I write
in sun-shine.

The following letters to Dean Gervais, w^ith some political
gossip as usual, introduce us to Cloyne in 1744: —

\Cloyne\ Jmiuary 8, 1744.

You have obliged the ladies as well as myself by your candid judg-
ment on the points submitted to your determination. I am glad this
matter proved an amusement in your gout, by bringing you acquainted
with several curious and select trials *^ ; which I should readily purchase,
and accept your kind offer of procuring them, if I did not apprehend
there might be some among them of too delicate a nature to be read by
boys and girls, to whom my library, and particularly all French books,
are open.

As to foreign affairs, we cannot descry or prognosticate any good
event from this remote corner. The planets that seemed propitious
are now retrograde : Russia, Sweden, and Prussia lost : and the Dutch a
nominal ally at best. You may now admire the Queen of Hungary
without a rival : her conduct with respect to the Czarina and the Marquis

*2 The work entitled Causes Cdebres, an edition of which appeared shortly before this.
VOL, IV. U

290 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

de Botta hath, I fear, rendered cold the hearts of her friends, and their
hands feeble. To be plain, from this time forward I doubt we shall
languish, and our enemies take heart. And while I am thus perplexed
about foreign affairs, my private economy (I mean the animal economy)
is disordered by the sciatica; an evil which has attended me for some
time past ; and I apprehend will not leave me till the return of the sun.
Certainly the news that I want to hear at present is not from Rome, or
Paris, or Vienna, but from Dublin ; viz., when the Dean of Tuam is
declared, and when he receives the congratulations of his friends. I cour-
stantly read the news from Dublin ; but lest I should overlook this article,
I take upon me to congratulate you at this moment ; that as my good
wishes were not, so my compliments may not be behind those of your
other friends.

You have entertained me with so many curious things that I would
fain send something in return worth reading. But, as this quarter
affords nothing from itself, I must be obliged to transcribe a bit of
an English letter that I received last week. It relates to what is now
the subject of public attention, the Hanover troops, and is as follows : —
' General Campbell (a thorough courtier) being called upon in the House
of Commons to give an account whether he had not observed some
instances of partiality, replied, he could not say he had : but this he
would say, that he thought the forces of the two nations could never
draw together again. This, coming from the mouth of a courtier, was
looked upon as an ample confession : however, it was carried against the
address by a large majority. Had the question been whether the Han-
over troops should be continued, it would not have been a debate : but,
it being well known that the contrary had been resolved upon before the
meeting of parliament, the moderate part of the opposition thought it was
unnecessary, and might prove hurtful to address about it, and so voted
with the court.' You see how I am forced to lengthen out my letter by
adding a borrowed scrap of news, which yet probably is no news to you.
But, though I should shew you nothing new, yet you must give me leave
to shew my inclination at least to acquit myself of the debts I owe you,
and to declare myself, &c.

Cloyne, March 16, 1744.

I THINK myself a piece of a prophet when I foretold that the Pre-
tender's Cardinal feigned to aim at your head, when he meant to strike
you, like a skilful fencer, on the ribs. It is true, one would hardly think
the French such bunglers : but this popish priest hath manifestly bungled

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 291

so as to repair the breaches our own bunglers had made at home. This
is the luckiest thing that could have happened, and will, I hope, confound
all the measures of our enemies. I was much obliged and delighted
with the good news you lately sent, which was yesterday confirmed by
letters from Dublin. And though particulars are not yet known, I did
not think fit to delay our public marks of joy, as a great bonfire before
my gate, firing of guns, drinking of healths, &c. I was very glad of this
opportunity to put a little spirit into our drooping Protestants of Cloyne,
who have of late conceived no small fears on seeing themselves in such
a defenceless condition among so great a number of Papists elated with
the fame of these new enterprises in their favour. It is indeed terrible to
reflect, that we have neither arms nor militia in a province where the
Papists are eight to one, and have an earlier intelligence than we have of
what passes : by what means I know not ; but the fact is certainly true.

Good Mr. Dean (for Dean I will call you, resolving not to be behind
your friends in Dublin), you must know that to us who live in this
remote corner many things seem strange and unaccountable that may be
solved by you who are near the fountain head. Why are draughts made
from our forces when we most want ihem ? Why are not the militia
arrayed .-' How comes it to pass that arms are not put into the hands of
Protestants, especially since they have been so long paid for 1 Did not
our ministers know for a long time past that a squadron was forming at
Brest ? Why did they not then bruise the cockatrice in the egg ? Would
not the French works at Dunkirk have justified this step } Why was Sir
John Norris*^ called off from the chase when he had his enemies in full
view, and was even at their heels with a superior force ? As we have
two hundred and forty men-of-war, whereof one hundred and twenty are
of the fine, how comes it that we did not appoint a squadron to watch
and intercept the Spanish Admiral with his thirty millions of pieces of
eight } In an age wherein articles of religious faith are canvassed with
the utmost freedom, we think it lawful to propose these scruples in our
political faith, which in many points wants to be enlightened and set
right.

Your last was wrote by the hand of a fair lady to whom both my
wife and I send our compliments as well as to yourself: I wish you joy
of being able to write yourself. My cholic is changed to gout and
sciatica, the tar-water having drove it into my limbs, and, as I hope,
carrying it off by those ailments, which are nothing to the cholic.

^^ A well-known Admiral, in the former in favour of the exiled Stewart family, and the
half of last century. The country was agi- French king declared war against England
tated about this time by efforts in France in the month of March.

U %

292 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

In 1744, Berkeley comes more prominently into the light than
he has done since he settled in his ' serene corner' at Cloyne. His
medical experiments in Imokilly determined the course of his
reading and speculation, in a way very characteristic of him.
He had been devoted to tar-water for years. He heard of its
medical virtues first when he was among the Indians in the Narra-
gansett country, and he now bethought himself of it as a remedy
for the diseases which followed the famine in his neighbourhood at
Cloyne. Its apparent success in some diseases led him to experi-
ment upon it in others, in which on trial it seemed not less
efficacious. The wide medicinal efficacy of this simple drug led
him to speculate about the causes of this efficacy. He satisfied
himself that tar contained an extraordinary proportion of the vital
element of the universe; and that water was the menstruum by
which this element might be drawn off, and conveyed into vege-
table or animal organisms. Well made tar-water, thus saturated
with the essence of life, must, he began to think, be a Panacea
for the diseases to which the vital part of creation is liable. He
exulted in the view of a discovery by which the physical maladies
of this mortal life might all be mitigated, if not subdued, — a dis-
covery which was to overshadow every other discovery, and to
open a new vista of happiness to mankind.

What enthusiasm could be more likely to take possession of one
so susceptible and benevolent. Body and mind are so connected in
this sentient life that whatever confirms the animal health affords
new conditions of intellectual activity and spiritual growth. A
physically healthy race of men might make incalculable advances
in the warfare with error and prejudice, and thus the future history
of mankind might be a happy contrast to its past. For years he
had himself been a sufferer from a complication of diseases which
had withdrawn much of his former energy. This might be restored
now. The very conception kindled an enthusiastic 2eal for tar-
water, hardly inferior to that with which nearly twenty years
before he had projected the Bermuda College. Tar-water was his
ruling thought and enthusiasm in the last twelve years of his life.
An apparatus for manufacturing it was set up in one of the rooms
of his house. The nauseous drug was the great medicine in his
family, and he tried, by offering it in the least unpalatable form,
and enveloping it in a halo of philosophical imagination and

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 293

reason, to make it the medicine for his neighbours and for all
the world. His friends were urged to join him in experimenting
upon tar-water, or in celebrating its medicinal virtues. Among
others, Thomas Prior devoted himself to the well-intended work
in Dublin, and with characteristic fidelity announced in the
Gentleman s Magazine^ and in pamphlets of his own, cures attri-
buted to tar-water.

The most lasting effect of Berkeley's tar-water enthusiasm
has been the curious and beautiful work of speculation in
which he celebrated the virtues of the new medicine. In
the spring of 1744, he offered to the world, A Chain of
Philosophical Reflexions and Enquiries concerning the Virtues of Tar-
ivater^ and divers other subjects connected together and arising one
from another. This work cost him more thought and research,
he used to say, than any other he ever undertook. No one who
examines its contents can be surprised to hear this. The book
is full of fruit gathered in the remote by-ways of science and
philosophy. Berkeley's growing inclination towards Platonism,
and his affectionate study of Greek philosophy, partly shown in
Alciphronj is much more conspicuous in these Philosophical Reflec-
tions. The supposed universal medicinal efficacy of tar-water
produced in his thoughts a speculation — founded on the history of
ancient philosophy, and on supposed results of ancient and modern
physical research — which, by subtle transitions, ascended from the
vital spirit of vegetables and animals to the vital spirit of the
universe, and then to the dependence of life in all its forms upon
Mind. Berkeley was thus led, in his contemplative old age, to
ponder more deeply those necessary relations of Intelligence to
sensible things which had engaged the impetuous logical activity
of his youth. The issue was a scries of *aids to reflection,^ upon
the interpretability of Nature; upon Space and Time, Free-will
and Necessity, Matter and Form, the Soul of Things, and the
ineffable mysteries of Deity; passing one into another, in the
most unexpected involutions and evolutions, all embedded in
Ancient Philosophy, in this wonderful little book, which far
transcends the unspeculative and unlearned age in which it
appeared, and shows supposed novelties that minister to modern
conceit, to be as old as the Neoplatonic, or even the Pre-Socratic
age.

294 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

No work of Berkeley's so rapidly engaged popular attention.
This was not due to its philosophy, however, but to its vast medical
promise. A second edition, in which the name S'trls was given to
it by its author, appeared a few weeks after the first. Tar-water
within a month became the rage in England as well as in Ireland.
Manufactories of tar-water were established in London^ Dublin,
and other places in the course of tlie summer. The anger of
the professional physicians was roused against the ecclesiastical
intruder into their province. Pamphlets were written against
the new medicine, and other pamphlets were written in reply.
A tar-water controversy ensued, productive of writings not less
numerous or bulky than those yielded by the ^ Aiialyst contro-
versy' some years before. The infection spread to other countries.
Slris was soon translated, in whole or in part, into French, German,
Dutch, and Portuguese j its doctrines were discussed, and tar- water
establishments were set a-going in various parts of Europe and
America '^^.

In studying the philosophical growth of Berkeley's mind, and
apart from the medicinal uses of tar-water, S'lrls should be compared
with the Frinciples of HuTna7t Kno--jjledge^ published more than thirty
years before. Each supplements the other; in the two combined

** It would be endless to quote contem- and turpentine,' says Smith, in his Natural

porary expressions of the interest excited History of the County of Cork (I'j^o), 'are

by a panacea, previously undiscovered, but products of these [tir] trees. The former

which Hippocrates and Sydenham supposed has of late obtained a place among the best

to exist somewhere in nature, and which of medicines, and its virtues have been cele-

was now referred to tar-water by a brated by an Essay that surpasses everything

personage so distinguished as the Bishop that has yet been wrote upon any medicine yet

of Cloyne. I have mentioned some of discovered.' Tar-water was, some years

these in the Preface to Siris ". Here are a after this, commemorated by the novelist

few more. In Nichols's Illustrations (vol. I. Fielding : — ' Such a panacea one of the

p. 644) we have the following, in a letter greatest scholars and best of men did lately

from C. Pratt, dated April -29, 1744 : ' The apprehend that he had discovered. It is true

book most talked of at present is a pam- he was no physician, and yet perhaps no

phlet of Bishop Berkeley upon the vir- other modern hath contributed so much

tues of Tar-water, which he recommends as to make his physical skill useful to the

the universal medicine for all complaints. public. I mean the late Bishop of Cloyne

There is a deal of abstruse inquiry into the in Ireland, and the discovery is that of

nature of Fire, Air, and Light and the Lord the virtues of tar-water.' Fielding then

knows what. It closes in some conceits goes on to describe how he had tried it

upon the Trinity. You know how wild for dropsy with good effect. (Introduction

ingenious enthusiasts are ; but the book to his Voyage to Lisbon.) See also

deserves to be read for the elegance of its Hardinge's Life of Sneyd Davie'i, p. 165 ;

style, a thing rarely met with in this age of Abp. Herring's Correspondence ivilb William

bombast.' [The same letter refers to Aken- Buncombe, Esq., pp. 70, 74, and many

side's Pleasures of Imagination, and Arm- contemporary allusions, and verses on the

Strong's Art of Health, as new books.] ' Tar subject, in the Gent. Mag. and elsewhere.

* Siris i(Tf ipis], dimin, from fffipd, a chain.

VIII.] Philaiithropy and Philosophy at Cloync. 295

we have the philosophical meaning of his life in its most com-
prehensive form.

There is one vein of speculation in S'lr'is of which there is almost
no trace in any of Berkeley's earlier works, and of which it is
difficult to make a satisfactory biographical analysis. He had
somehow come to entertain the opinion, which he shared with
many of the ancient philosophers, that Fire, Light, or ^Ether is the
' animal spirit ' of this sensible world. This notion runs through
S'lr'ts^ and he luxuriates in it in a way which the reader is rather
at a loss to reconcile with what he was accustomed to in the
Fr'mciples of Hmnayi Knowledge^ or even in Akiphron. In fact, in
Alc'tphron he puts a somewhat analogous theory into the mouth of
a sceptical interlocutor-*^. The wilderness of physical hypothesis
over which we have to travel in the Fire Philosophy of Berkeley,
one is apt to think an unnecessary obstruction on the path,
especially under that conception of an immediately acting pro-
vidential Mind being the constant energy in the universe which
satisfied him formerly. What need for this interposed aither, or
fiery spirit — this 'plastic medium' — to connect the Universal
Mind with the visible and tangible changes of which we are
conscious ? Its immediate recommendation was that it gave the
unity which a panacea presupposes. Still, some growing tendency
to mystical contemplation must have been at work^ clouding the
lucid and argumentative phenomenalism of his Trinity College
years; and the inclination was encouraged at Cloyne by much
solitary reading of Platonists and Neoplatonists, as well as of
chemists and alchemists. Its marked existence in his later years is
among the most interesting of his mental characteristics •*".

^^ Cf. Dial.VI.sect. 13, 14. \\\ Alciphron-M works, and other references are common to

well as in Siris, however, he refers fondly this author and Berkeley. In Part III. an

to the saying of the ancient sages of the analogy is unfolded between the Holy Ghost

East,— that God has light for his body, and and the universal aether or elemental fire,

truth for his soul. Cf. Alciphron, Dial. IV. ' The properties of elemental fire or aether,'

sect. 15; 5'/m, sect. 179. Light or j^lther is, says the author, 'are so well expressed by

with Berkeley, the fiery spirit of the universe. an eminent philosopher and divine that his

*" The ' Fire Philosophy ' runs through a language shall be pretty nearly used.' Several

now rare work, entitled The Analogy of quotations from Siris are then given.
Divine Wisdom in the Material, Sensitive, Sir I=aac New'on's account of the /Ether,

Moral, and Spiritual Systetn of Things, by ivith some additions by way of Appendix,

Richard Barton, B.D. The second edition by B. R., M.D. [Dr. Bryan Robmson ?], is

(234 pp.) was published at Dublin in 1 750. the title-page of a tract published in Dublin

This edition is an expansion of a smaller in 1745, in which the same subject, on oiie

work published several years before. Grew's of its aspects, is considered. But Newton s

Anatomy of Plants, Tacquet's mathematical aether is not Berkeley's.

296 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH.

When we compare S'lris with the Frindples we find other dis-
tinctive features. The universals of intellect, for instance,
overshadow here the ideas of sense and imagination. Skis may,
in this respect^ almost be taken as some of the unfinished part
of the Frindples of Human Knowledge. The things of sense
are looked at in it as only the shadows of reality. Intellectual
light is sought for in the universal and constructive activities
of mind j — in which we participate with Deity, through
which sensible things consist, and by which their various
relations are scientifically explicable. VtoMnomenon oftener
than idea is applied in Siris to the objects of sense and imagi-
nation— contrary to Berkeley's habit of language in his earlier
writings; while Ideas (not in the Lockian, but in a Platonic
meaning) are accepted as the real causes or active principles of
things. A position intermediate between Aristotle and Plato,
in regard to the cardinal question of philosophy, is contemplated.
'Aristotle,' says Berkeley, 'held that the mind of man was a
tabula rasaj and that there were no innate ideas. Plato, on the
contrary, held original ideas in the mind, that is, notions which
never were, nor can be in the sense, such as being, bearing, good-
ness, likeness, purity. Some perhaps may think the truth to be
this : — that there are properly no ideas^ or passive objects, in the
mind, but what were derived from sense : but that there are also
besides these her own acts or operations : such are notions '*'^.'

An increased eclecticism and tolerance of intellectual temper
also marks Berkeley's mental condition when Siris was written.
He is more of an eclectic now, less inclined to regard the
New Principle of his youth as the settlement of all the diffi-
culties of speculation. He sees that there is more to ponder
in the universe than that esse is percipi. This intuition of his
youth is presented more modestly, and rather as the beginning
than as the end and completion of philosophy. The experience
of life, and his Greek reading, had perhaps helped to teach him that
the strange universe in which we find ourselves is not so easily
and perfectly intelligible as it seemed in long past days in Dublin.
There is a feeling of its mysteriousness, which was growing upon
him even in the days of Alciphron and the Analyst. There is a
welcome recognition of Theism in any form of faith that preserves

*' Siris,, sect. 30S.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 297

the supremacy of Spirit in the universe — even when it might be
called Pantheism by the unspeculative, and a willingness to receive
into spiritual communion diversified forms of ancient and modern
religious belief. Ecclesiastical life and episcopal office had not
spoiled the philosopher : he had been perfected by suffering, and
his tone is more unworldly than ever. Berkeley's latest work in
philosophy breathes more than any of his works the philosophic
spirit. For Sins was his last word in speculation. Except a few
tracts, it was his last printed word of all. And its closing sentences
worthily express his own spiritual growth in later life. He is found
larger, more liberal, and more modest, as he advances. He leaves
us with the parting thought, that ' in this mortal state we must
be satisfied to make the best of those glimpses within our reach/
Yet he has discovered that 'the eye, by long use, comes to see even
in the darkest cavern;' and that there is 'no subject so obscure
but we may discern some glimpse of truth by long poring on it.'
Truth, he has learned, is the cry of all, but the game only of
a few. Certainly, where it is the chief passion, it doth not
give way to vulgar cares and views ; nor is it contented with a
little ardour in the early time of life, active perhaps to pursue,
but not so fit to weigh and revise. He that would make a real
progress in knowledge must dedicate his age as well as youth,
the later growth as well as first fruits, at tlie altar of truth ^*^.'
Such was the spirit of Berkeley in the episcopal palace of Cloyne.
His words impress the difference between the enthusiastic argu-
mentative pursuit of one conception into its logical consequences,
in the Vr'mctples^ and the intuitive weighing and revision of truth
in 5/m, in his contemplative old age.

The following letter to Prior, with the prefixed lines^ shows
what Berkeley was absorbed in during this summer : —

To drink or not to drink ! that is the doubt,
With pro and con the learn'd would make it out.
Britons, drink on ! the jolly prelate cries :
What the prelate persuades the doctor denies.
But why need the parties so learnedly fight,
Or choleric Jurin so fiercely indite .?
Sure our senses can tell if the liquor be right.

" Sirk, sect. 367, 368.

298 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

What agrees with his stomach, and what with his head,
The drinker may feel, though he can't write or read.
Then authority 's nothing : the doctors are men :
And who drinks tar-water will drink it again.

Dear Tom, Cloynejune 19, 1744-

Last night being unable to sleep for the heat, I fell into a reverie on
my pillow, which produced the foregoing lines ; and it is all the answer
I intend for Dr. Jurin's letter, for that I am told is the writer's name of a
pamphlet addressed to me, and which was sent me from London*^. When
you cause these lines to be printed in the public papers, you will take
care to have them transcribed, that the verses may not be known to be
mine. Because you desire remarks on the affidavits (things very obvious
to make), I send them back to you, who will remark yourself. I send
you at the same time a Letter^" which I formerly wrote, before you sent
the affidavits, as you will see by the date, but never sent, having changed
my mind as to appearing myself in that affair, which can be better
managed by a third hand. Let one of the Letters, cut and stitched in
marble paper, be sent to every body in Dublin to whom a book was
given; and let one of the copies be sent Mr. Tnnys, to be printed in the
same size in London ; also for the magazine, where you talk of getting
it inserted.

I wish you to send the two volumes of Universal History, the six
tomes of Wilkins's Couiicils^^, and the books from Innys, in a box
together, to be left for me at Mr. Harper's in Cork. All here are yours.
Adieu. Yours affectionately,

G. CLOYNE.

We have additional evidence of his tar-water zeal in the follow-
ing letter to Sir Thomas Hanmer'^-, whose name reminds us of
Swift, and of the now distant days of Berkeley's life spent in
London under Swift's guidance : —

Cloyne, August 21, 1744.
Sir,

As I am with particular esteem and respect your humble servant, so I
heartily wish your success in the use of tar-water may justify the kind
things you say on that subject. But, since you are pleased to consult me

** See Editor's Preface to 5'/r/s. Londinensem, A.D. I 717, the well-known

^ Beikeley's First Letter !o Thomas Prior, work of David Wilkiiis, a learned divine,

on Tar-water. See Works, vol. III. p. 463. appeared in four folios in 1736 — 37.

The affidavits refer to alleged cure?. ^" Printed in the Correspondence of Sir

'-^ Concilia MagncB Britannia: et Hiber- Thomas Hanmer, Bart. (1838).

7ii(E, a Synodo Verolamiensi, A. D. 446, ad

VIII.] Pkilanthi'-opy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 299

about taking it, I shall without further ceremony tell you what I think,
how ill soever a physician's air may become one of my profession. Cer-
tainly, if I may conclude from parallel cases, there is room to entertain
good hopes of yours : both giddiness and relaxed fibres having been, to
my knowledge, much relieved by tar-water. The sooner you take it, so
much the better. I could wish you saw it made yourself, and strongly
stirred. While it stands to clarify, let it be close covered, and afterwards
bottled, and well corked. I find it agrees with most stomachs, when
stirred even five or six minutes, provided it be skimmed before bottling.
You may begin with a pint a day, and proceed to a pint and a half, or
even a quart, as it shall agree with your stomach. And you may take
this quantity either in half-pint or quarter-pint glasses, at proper intervals
in the twenty-four hours. It may be drunk indifferently, at any season
of the year. It lays under no restraint, nor obliges you to go out of
your usual course of diet. Only, in general, I suppose light suppers,
early hours, and gentle exercise (so as not to tire) good for all cases'*^.
With your tar-water I wish you may take no other medicines. I have
had much experience of it, and can honestly say I never knew it do
harm. The ill effects of drugs shew themselves soonest on the weakest
persons ; such are children ; and I assure you that my two youngest
children (when they were one three, and the other not two years old)
took it, as a preservative against the small-pox, constantly for six months
together without any inconvenience. Upon the whole, I apprehend no
harm and much benefit in your case, and shall be very glad to find my
hopes confirmed by a fine from yourself, which will always be received as
a great favour by

Sir, your most obedient and

most humble servant,

GEORGE CLOYNE.

The last epistolary scrap in 1744 is a letter to Prior, again
vv^ith a playful poetical effusion, still full of tar^water. The letter
contains the only intimation of Berkeley having a sister M'hich
I have anywhere found. The verses, which appeared in the
Gentleman's Magaz,'me for October 1744, are as follows : —
On SiEis and its Enemies. By a Drinker of Tar- Water.
How can devoted Siris stand
Such dire attacks ? The licens'd baml,
With upcast eyes and visage sad,
Proclaim, ' Alas ! the world 's run mad.

■" Cf. Siris, sect. I — 3.

300 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cii.

' The prelate's book has turn'd their brains ;
' To set them right will cost us pains.
' His drug too makes our patients sick ;
* And this doth vex us to the quick.'
And, vex'd they must be, to be sure,
To find tar-water cannot cure,
But makes men sicker still and sicker,
And fees come thicker still and thicker.

Bursting with pity for mankind,
But to their own advantage blind,
Many a wight, with face of fun'ral,
From mortar, still, and urinal,
Hastes to throw in his scurvy mite
Of spleen, of dullness, and of spite.
To furnish the revolving moons
With pamphlets, epigrams, lampoons.
Against tar-water. You 'd know why —
Think who they are : you '11 soon descry
What means each angry doleful ditty,
Whether themselves or us they pity.

Dear Tom,

The doctors, it seems, are grown very abusive. To silence them, I
send you the above scrap of poetry, which I would by no means have
known or suspected for mine. You will therefore burn the original, and
send a copy to be printed in a newspaper, or the Genlleman's Magazim.
I must desire you to get some bookseller in Dublin to procure me the
History of the Learned, and the Genilematis Magazine, two pamphlets
that come out monthly. For the time past I would have the History or
Memoirs of the Learned for the months of May, June, and July past,
and the Magazine for last July. For the future, I would be supplied
with them every month •'^*.

It is to be noted, that tar-water is best made in glazed earthen vessels.
I would have the foregoing sentence inserted in the English edition, and
next Irish edition of the Letter, at the end of the section that recites the
manner of making tar-water'^. It is very lately I made this remark, that
it is finer and clearer when so made than if in unglazed crocks.

•'■* The History of the Works of the Learned, number for November 1739, Hume's Trea-

giviiig a view of the state of learning through- tise of Human Natiire was handled roughly,

out Europe, and containing abstracts of The Gent. Mag. commenced in Jan. 1731.
new books, commenced in January 1737, ^ Cf. Works, vol. III. p. 493.

and was continued for several years. In the

VIII.] Phila7ithropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 301

Pray send the numbers of our tickets in this lottery. My sister wrote

to Mrs. Hamilton^'', but has got no answer. Perhaps her niece might

have been cured of her sore eye since she left Dublin. I am, dear Tom,

your affectionate humble servant,

GEORGE CLOYNE.
Sept. 3, 1744.

P. S. When you send the other books, I desire you to put up with
them two dissertations of Whiston's, upon our Saviour's miracles, and
upon the Eternity of Hell Torments, if this can be got in town ; also half
a guinea's worth (/. e. 25) Gifts to Maid-Servarits, printed by Falkner.

September 3, 1744.

The tar-water philosophical enthusiasm, though for medical
purposes it lasted through the rest of his life, did not blind
Berkeley to other social interests. The movement of Prince
Charles Edward, in 1 745 •^'^, occasioned his 'Letter to the Roman
Catholics of Cloyne^ full of humane and liberal spirit. It was widely
circulated in the Dublin Journal and otherwise, and, by general
consent, helped greatly to restrain the Irish of that communion
from joining the young Chevalier. In 1744, its author had as-
cended, in Sir'ts^ to the heights of Neoplatonic speculation ; in
1745, in descending to deal with men, he showed himself ready
to observe and act, and to treat those of a different communion
in a spirit worthy of a Christian bishop.

His generous patriotism recommended him to the well-known
Earl of Chesterfield, who was made Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in
August 1745. Under his short administration, at a critical time
in the internal history of these islands, Ireland enjoyed unusual
tranquillity and prosperity. Berkeley was not a stranger to Lord
Chesterfield, and the new Lord Lieutenant was anxious to advance
him to a more lucrative ecclesiastical position than Cloyne.
Chesterfield's biographer tells the story thus ■''^ : — ' Soon after Lord
Chesterfield's return fiom his first embassy in Holland, Dr. Berkeley
presented him with his Minute Philosopher^ which was just then

^ The widow of the Dean of Dromore (?). grandnephew, Monck Berkeley, was at the

=' Berkeley's younger brother William, 'an University of St. Andrews, nearly forty years

excellent officer',' is said to have held a after. See Preface to Monck Berkeley.

command in Fifeshire in the '45, and to '^^ Dr. Maty's Memoirs of /be Earl of

have been well remembered there when his Chesterfield.

302 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

published, and met with uncommon approbation. His lordship
esteemed the author still more than the book j but there was no
intimacy between them. When he came to Dublin, with the
power as well as desire of rewarding merit, he embraced the first
opportunity of showing his regard for so respectable a character,
and accordingly made an offer to the Doctor of changing his
bishopric of Cloyne for that of Clogher, which was of much greater
value. This consideration had no influence upon a philosopher,
who had nothing little in his composition. He could not bear
even the suspicion of having been bribed to write in favour of the
government, and therefore declined the exchange.' Stock says
that ' he had enough already to satisfy all his wishes ; and, agree-
ably to the natural warmth of his temper, he had conceived so
high an idea of the beauties of Cloyne, that Mr. Pope had once
almost determined to make a visit to Ireland on purpose to see a
place which his friend had painted out to him with all the brilliancy
of colouring, and which yet to common eyes presents nothing that
is very worthy of attention.' Mrs. Berkeley tells a somewhat
different story. She says that her husband ^ never had an idea
of Cloyne as a beautiful situation.' This is hardly consistent
with more than one of his previous letters. About the corre-
spondence with Pope (who died in May 1744), I am also scep-
tical ; at least I have found no traces of letters between them after
Berkeley removed to Ireland. As to the Clogher preferment, it
seems that he told his wife soon after they went to Cloyne, ' that
his resolution was never to change his see; because, as he after-
wards confessed to the Archbishop of Tuam^^ and the late Earl of
Shannon, he had very early in life got the world under his feet,
and he hoped to trample on it to his latest moments '5".'

The Primacy soon after became vacant, and there was a desire
to have Berkeley nominated. He remained notwithstanding at
Cloyne, where he had indulged in so many years of solitary
thought.

The letters to Dean Gervais which follow, allude to some
contemporary politics, and one of them refers to the death
of his old friend Swift, who had been dead to all literary and
active service during years of silence and an eclipse of reason.

^' Jemmett Browne. «" See Biog. Brit., vol III.— ' Addenda and Corrigenda.'

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 303

lCloyne\June 3, 1745.

I CONGRATULATE with you On the success of your late dose of physic.
The gout, as Dr. Sydenham styles it, is amarissimu7)i naiurce pharmacum.
It throws off a sharp excrement from the blood to the limbs and extre-
mities of the body, and is no less useful than painful ^^ I think, Mr.
Dean, you have paid for the gay excursion you made last winter to the
metropolis and the court ''^. And yet, such is the condition of mortals, I
foresee you will forget the pain next winter, and return to the same
course of life which brought it on.

As to our warlike achievements, if I were to rate our successes by our
merits, I could forebode little good. But if we are sinners, our enemies
are no saints. It is my opinion we shall heartily maul one another,
without any signal advantage on either side. How the sullen English
squires who pay the piper will like this dance, I cannot tell. For my
own part, I cannot help thinking that land expeditions are but ill suited
either to the force or interest of England ; and that our friends would
do more if we did less on the continent.

Were I to send my son from home, I assure you there is no one to
whose prudent care and good nature I would sooner trust him than
■yours. But, as I am his physician, I think myself obliged to keep him
with me. Besides, as after so long an illness his constitution is very
delicate, I imagine this warm vale of Cloyne is better suited to it than
your lofty and exposed situation of Lismore. Nevertheless, my wife and
I are extremely obliged by your kind offer, and concur in our hearty
.thanks for it.

[Cloyne], Nov. 24, 1745.

You are in for life. Not all the philosophers have been saying these
three thousand years on the vanity of riches, the cares of greatness, and
the brevity of human life, will be able to reclaim you. However, as it is
observed that most men have patience enough to bear the misfortunes of
others, I am resolved not to break my heart for my old friend, if you
should prove so unfortunate as to be made a bishop. The reception you
met with from Lord Chesterfield was perfectly agreeable to his Excel-
lency's character, who being so dair-voyant in everything else could not
be supposed blind to your merit.

Your friends the Dutch have shewed themselves, what I always took
them to be, selfish and ungenerous. To crown all, we are now told the

«i Cf. Siris, sect. 68, 80. ^"^ Gervais was evidently fond of going to Dublin.

304 Life a7id Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

forces they sent us have private orders not to fight. I hope we shall not
want them.

By the letter you favoured me with, I find the regents of our university
have shewn their loyalty at the expense of their wit. The poor dead
Dean, though no idolater of the Whigs, was no more a Jacobite than
Dr. Baldwin, And had he been even a Papist, what then ? Wit is of
no party ^'^.

We have been alarmed with a report that a great body of rapparees
is up in the county of Kilkenny : these are looked on by some as the
forerunners of an insurrection. In opposition to this, our militia have
been arrayed, that is, sworn : but alas ! we want not oaths, we want
muskets. I have bought up all I could get, and provided horses and
arms for four-and-twenty of the Protestants of Cloyne, which, with a few
more that can furnish themselves, make up a troop of thirty horse. This
seemed necessary to keep off rogues in these doubtful times.

May we hope to gain a sight of you in the recess .'' Were I as able to
go to town, how readily should I wait on my Lord Lieutenant and the
Dean of Tuam. Your letters are so much tissue of gold and silver : in
return I am forced to send you from this corner a patch-work of tailors'
shreds, for which I entreat your compassion, and that you will believe
me, &c.

\Cloyne\, Jan. 6, 1746.

Two days ago I was favoured with a very agreeable visit from Baron
Mountnay and Mr. Bristow^*. I hear they have taken Lismore in their
way to Dublin. We want a little of your foreign fire to raise our Irish
spirits in this heavy season. This makes your purpose of coming very
agreeable news. We will chop politics together, sing lo Pceait to the
Duke, revile the Dutch, admire the King of Sardinia, and applaud the
Earl of Chesterfield, whose name is sacred all over this island except
Lismore ; and what should put your citizens of Lismore out of humo\ir
with his Excellency I cannot comprehend. But the discussion of these
points must be deferred to your wished-for arrival.

^^ Swift died October 19, 1745. Imme- in the library,

diately after his death some members of ^ Richard Mountnay, of the Inner Temple,

Trinity College, Dublin, proposed to place London, was a Baron of the Exchequer in

his bust in the College Library. It was sup- Ireland, 1 741 — 68. The Rev. Peter Bris-

posed that the Whig Provost, Baldwin, would tow was a vicar choral of Cork, 1733 — 69.

object to this, as well as the senior Fellows. He wrote a comedy, called The Harlequins,

The surmise was ungrounded : the bust was printed at London in I 753.
admitted without any objection, and is now

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 305

\Cloyne\ Feb. 6, 1746.
You say you carried away regret from Cloyne. I assure you that you
did not carry it all away : there was a good share of it left with us :
which was on the following news-day increased upon hearing the fate of
your niece. My wife could not read this piece of news without tears,
though her knowledge of that amiable young lady was no more than one
day's acquaintance. Her mournful widower is beset with many temporal
blessings : but the loss of such a wife must be long felt through them all.
Complete happiness is not to be hoped for on this side Gascony. All
those who are not Gascons must have a corner of woe to creep out at,
and to comfort themselves with at parting from this world. Certainly if
we had nothing to make us uneasy here, heaven itself would be less
wished for. But I should remember I am writing to a philosopher and
divine ; so shall turn my thoughts to politics, concluding with this sad
reflection, that, happen what will, I see the Dutch are still to be favourites ;
though I much apprehend the hearts of some warm friends may be lost
at home, by endeavouring to gain the affection of those lukewarm
neighbours.

[Cloyne], Feb. 24, 1746.

I AM heartily sensible of your loss, which yet admits of alleviation, not
only from the common motives which have been repeated every day for
upwards of five thousand years, but also from your own peculiar know-
ledge of the world and the variety of distresses which occur in all ranks
from the highest to the lowest : I may add, too, from the peculiar times
in which we live, which seem to threaten still more wretched and unhappy
times to come.

' ^tas parentum, pejor avis, tulit
Nos nequiores, mox daturos
Progeniem vitiosiorem.'

Nor is it a small advantage that you have a peculiar resource against
distress from the gaiety of your own temper. Such is the hypochondriac
melancholy complexion of us islanders, that we seem made of butter,
every accident makes such a deep impression upon us'^'^ ; but those elastic
spirits, which are your birthright, cause the strokes of fortune to rebound
without leaving a trace behind them ; though, for a time, there is and
will be a gloom, which, I agree with your friends, is best dispelled at the
court and metropolis, amidst a variety of faces and amusements.

«^ Cf. Alciphron, Dial. II. sect. 17.
VOL. IV. X

3o6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch,

I wish I was able to go with you, and pay my duty to the Lord
Lieutenant : but, alas ! the disorder I had this winter, and my long re-
treat, have disabled me for the road, and disqualified me for a court.
But if I see you not in Dublin, which I wish I may be able to do, I shall
hope to see you at Cloyne when you can be spared from better company.
These sudden changings andlossings from side to side betoken a fever
in the state. But whatever ails the body politic, take care of your own
bodily health, and let no anxious cares break in upon it.

We have also in 1746 three interesting letters to Prior at
Dublin. In the first of these, the letter signed Eubulus [apropos of
the progress of the Young Chevalier in England), was enclosed,
to be inserted in the Dublin Journal.

To the Publisher.
Sir,

As several in this dangerous conjuncture have undertaken to advise
the public, I am encouraged to hope that a hint concerning the dress of
our soldiers may not be thought impertinent.

Whatever unnecessarily spends the force or strength of a man lessens
its effect where it is necessary. The same force that carries one pound
a hundred yards will carry two pounds but fifty yards ; and so in pro-
portion. The 1 ody of a man is an engine. Its force should be managed
to produce its full effect where it is most wanted ; and ought not, there-
fore, in t me of action, to be dissipated on useless ornaments. There is
a weight on our soldiers neither offensive nor defensive, but serving only
for parade. This I would have removed ; and the loss will not be much,
if the man's vigoiu grows as his pomp lessens, spedemur agendo being
the proper motto and ambition of warriors.

Sleeves, facings, caps, flaps, tall caps, double breasts, laces, frogs,
cockades, plaited shirts, shoulder-knots, belts, and buttons more than
enough are so many drawbacks or obstacles to a soldier's exerting his
strength in the proper way, in marching, fighting, and pursuing. Sup-
pose two armies engage equal in strength, courage, and numbers, one
clad in judges robes, the other in sailor's jackets ; I need not ask on
which side the advantage lies. The same holds proportionably in other
cases, where the diflference is less notorious.

Our sailors seem the best dressed of all our forces ; and what is
sufficient for a sailor may serve for a soldier. Their dress, therefore, I
would recommend to the landmen, or if any other can be contrived yet
more succinct and tight ; that so our men may march and fight with the

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 307

least incumbrance, their strength being employed upon their arms and
their enemies.

Soldiers thus clad will be more light, clever, and alert ; and, when the
eye hath been a Htjle used to them, will look much better than in more
cumbersome apparel. I may add too, that something will be saved to
the men in the article of clothing. I am, Sir, your humble servant,

EUBULUS.

Dear Tom,

The above letter contains a piece of advice which seems to me not
unseasonable or useless. You may make use of Faulkner for conveying
it to the public, without any intimation of the author. I send you this
inclosed bill on Swift, ifcc, which you will tender to them, and see that
I have credit for it in their books. There is handed about a lampoon
against our troop, which hath caused great indignation in the warriors of
Cloyne.

I am informed that Dean Gervais had been looking for the Querist,
and could not find one in the shops, for my Lord Lieutenant"", at his
desire. I wish you could get one handsomely bound for his Excellency ;
or at least the last published relating to the Bank, which consisted of
excerpts out of the Three Parts of the Querist. I wrote to you before to
procure two copies of this for his Excellency and Mr. Liddel. Adieu,
dear Tom. Your faithful humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.
February, 1746.

Dear Tom,
I PERCEIVE the Earl of Chesterfield is, whether absent or present, a
friend to Ireland ; and there could not have happened a luckier incident
to this poor island than the friendship of such a man, when there are so
few of her own great men who either care or know how to befriend her.
As my own wishes and endeavours (howsoever weak and ineffectual)
have had the same tendency, I flatter myself that on this score he
honours me with his regard, which is an ample recompence for more
public merit than I can pretend to. As you transcribed a line from his
letter relating to me ; so, in return, I send you a line transcribed from a

«" Lord Chesterfield, who was Lord He had Ireland in charge during the period
Lieutenant from August 31, 1745 till of the Jacobite rising in Scotland.
April 25, 1746 — nine days after Culloden.

X 2

3o8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

letter of the Bishop of Gloucester's relating to you. I formerly told you
I had mentioned you to the Bishop when I sent your scheme. These
are his words : — ' I have had a great deal of discourse with your Lord
Lieutenant. He expressed his good esteem of Mr. Prior and his
character, and commended him as one who had no view in life but to do
the utmost good he is capable of. As he has seen the scheme, he may
have opportunity of mentioning it to as many of the cabinet as he pleases.
But it will not be a fashionable doctrine at this time.' So far the Bishop.
You are doubtless in the right, on all proper occasions, to cultivate a
correspondence with Lord Chesterfield. When you write, you will per-
haps let him know in the properest manner the thorough sense I have of
the honour he does me in his remembrance, and my concern at not
having been able to wait on him. Adieu, dear Tom,

G. CLOYNE.
Ju7ie 23, 1746.

May we hope to see you this summer ?

Cloyne,July 3, 1746.
Dear Tom,

I SEND you back my Letter, with the new paragraph to be added at
the end, where you see the A.

Lord Chesterfield's letter does great honour both to you and to his
Excellency. The nation should not lose the opportunity of profiting by
such a Viceroy, which indeed is a rarity not to be met with every season,
which grows not on every tree. I hope your Society ^^ will find means of
encouraging particularly the two points he recommends, glass and paper.
For the former you would do well to get your workmen from Holland
rather than from Bristol. You have heard of the trick the glassmen of
Bristol were said to have paid Dr. Helsham and Company.

My wife with her compliments sends you a present "''' by the Cork
carrier who set out yesterday. It is an offering of the first fruits of her
painting. She began to draw in last November, and did not stick to it
closely, but by way of amusement only at leisure hours. For my part, I
think she shows a most uncommon genius ; but others may be supposed
to judge more impartially than I. My two younger children are be-
ginning to employ themselves the same way. In short, here are two or
three families in Imokilly bent upon painting; and I wish it was more

*' The Dublin Society. subsequent history of which I have not been

^ A portrait of Berkeley, afterwards in able to trace,
possession of the Rev. Mervyn Archdall, the

VIII.] P/dlaiii/iropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 309

general among ladies and idle people as a thing that may divert the
spleen, improve the manufactures, and increase the wealth of the nation.
We will endeavour to profit by our Lord Lieutenant's advice, and kindle
up new arts with a spark of his public spirit.

Mr. Simon "^ has wrote to me, desiring that I would become a member
of the Historico-physical Society. I wish them well, but do not care to
list myself among them : for in that case I should think myself obliged to
do somewhat which might interrupt my other studies. I must therefore
depend on you for getting me out of this scrape, and hinder Mr. Simon's
proposing me, which he inclines to do, at the request, it seems, of the
Bishop of Meath. And this, with my service, will be a sufficient answer
to Mr. Simon's letter.

It was in 1746 that Prior published his Authentic Narrative of
the Success of Tar-ivater, Appended to tliis work are two Letters
from Berkeley to Prior. The Narrative is dedicated to the Lord
Chesterfield, who, as we have seen, had a great regard for the
author"". In the following year Berkeley published a Letter on
the same subject to Dr. Hales '^^

Berkeley's abode at Cloyne was celebrated as a home of the
arts. A contemporary allusion illustrates the modest represen-
tation of his letter to Prior. ' The episcopal house [of Cloyne],'
says Smith '^2^ < was rebuilt by Bishop Crowe, in which he died.
His present lordship [Bishop Berkeley] has successfully trans-
planted the polite arts, which before flourished in a warmer soil,
to this northern climate. Painting and music are no longer
strangers in Ireland, nor confined to Italy. In the episcopal palace
of Cloyne, the eye is entertained with a great variety of good
paintings, as well as the ear with concerts of excellent music.
There are here some pieces of the best masters j as a Magdalen by
Sir Peter Paul Rubens; some heads by Van Dyke and Kncllcr,

*'■' Mr. James Simon of Dublin w.is the better a conmiunicative disposition, without
author of the Essay on Irish Coins, which selfish views. As he had every scheme at
was presented to the Physico-Historical heart which he thought for the advantage
Society of Dublin, Dec. 7, 1747, and referred of his country, and was an intimate friend
by them to Dr. Corbet (Dean of St. Patrick's), of Bishop Berkeley, he caught his enthu-
and Harris (editor of Ware). On their re- siasm, and became a public advocate of tar-
commendation it was published, '^et Notes water.' U-diy's Life of Chesterfield,
arid Queries for 1857, p. 9. Simon was of " See Works, vol. III. p. ^^■ Berkeley s
French extraction. ' two Letters to Prior are also given 111 the

™ ' Mr. Prior, a gentleman who had an same volume,

estate of about £500 a year, and what is '" History of Cor It, vol. I. p. 1.^9.

3iO

Life a} id Letters of Berkeley.

[CH.

besides several good paintings performed in the house; — an
example so happy that it has diflFused itself into the adjacent
gentlemen's houses, and there is at present a pleasing emulation
raised in this country to vie with each other in these kinds of per-
formances,' The love of art as well as the love of truth, which
distinguished Berkeley's youth, followed him into his contemplative
old age. He had himself no ear for music, but he kept an Italian
master in the house for the instruction of his children on the
bass-viol. And a weekly concert at the bishop's was one of
the favourite entertainments of the neighbouring families of
Imokilly"''^.

A letter to Prior, later in the same year, speaks of episcopal
employment and preferment, and alludes to the ^ Oxford Scheme :' —

Cloyne, Sept. 12, 1746.
Dear Tom,

I AM just returned from a tour through my diocese of 130 miles,
almost shaken to pieces.

What you write of Bishop Stone's preferment is highly probable. For
myself, though his Excellency the Lord Lieutenant might have a better
opinion of me than I deserved ; yet it was not likely that he would make
an Lishman Primate "^

'' Berkeley retained the famous Pasqui-
lino four years in the palace at Cloyne
to teach his children music. George Ber-
keley ' was esteemed the finest gentleman-
performer on the violoncello in England ;
as his brother [William], who died at six-
teen, was a wonderfully fine performer on
the violin. Bishop Berkeley had a con-
cert at his house every evening in winter,
when he did not go from home. Signor
Pasquilino was to have a fine concert at
Cork. One day at dinner the Bishop said,
" Well, Pasquilino, I have got rid of a great
many tickets for you among my neighbours,
to Lord Inchiquin, Lord Shannon, Mr. Luin-
ley, &c." To which Pasquilino bowing
said — " May God picUe your Lordship, I
pray him!" All the company laughed im-
moderately. The poor Italian said, " Yell, in
de grammar dat my Lord gave me to teach
me Inglish, it is printed, picMe, to keep
from decay." Bishop Berkeley invited his
brother, the Rev. Dr. Robert Berkeley
(father of the Dean of Tuam, and of Mrs.
Hamilton, lady of Sackvillc Hamilton, Esq.\
to send his seven children, one fixed evening

in each week, to learn music and dancing of
bis children's masters.' Preface to Monck
Berlieleys Poems, p. ccccxi. In the dearth
of anecdotes illustrative of Berkeley one is
tempted to gather these crumbs.

'" The Primacy was vacated by the
death of Archbishop Hoadly (brother of
Bishop Hoadly) in July 1 746. His succes-
sor was Dr. George Stone, an Englishman,
educated at Christ Church, Oxford, who
was in succession Dean of Ferns, and of
Derry ; Bishop of Ferns, of Kildare, and
of Derry ; and who was raised to the Pri-
macy March 13, 1747, when he was about
forty years of age — a singularly rapid course
of promotion. He was more known as a
secular politician than as an ecclesiastic ; and
also on account of his personal grace and
dignity, which occasioned his being desig-
nated— ' the beauty of holiness.' He ruled
the Irish Church till his death, in Lon-
don, in 1764. A character of Archbishop
Stone is given by Campbell, in his Philo-
sophical Survey 0/ Ireland ; also in Mant's
His lory.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 311

The truth is, I have a scheme of my own for this long time past, in
which I propose more satisfaction and enjoyment of myself than I could
in that high station, which I neither solicited, nor so much as wished for.

It is true, the Primacy or Archbishopric of Dublin, if offered, might
have tempted me by a greater opportunity of doing good ; but there is
no other preferment in the kingdom to be desired upon any other
account than a greater income, which would not tempt me to remove
from Cloyne, and set aside my Oxford scheme ; which, though delayed
by the illness of my son, yet I am as intent upon it, and as much
resolved as ever.

I am glad you have a prospect of disposing of my debentures soon.
Adieu. Your affectionate humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.

This letter to Gervais glances as usual at politics : —

[Cloyne'], Nov. 8, 1746.

Your letter, with news from the Castle, found me in bed, confined by
the gout. In answer to which news I can only say, that I neither expect
nor wish for any dignity higher than I am encumbered with at present.
That which more nearly concerns me is my credit, which I am glad to
find so well supported by Admiral Lestock. I had promised you that
before the first of November he would take King Lewis by the beard.
Now Quimpercorrentin, Quimperlay, and Quimperen, being certain
extreme parts or excrescences of his kingdom, may not improperly be
styled the beard of France. In proof of his having been there, he has
plundered the wardrobes of the peasants, and imported a great number
of old petticoats, waistcoats, wooden shoes, and one shirt, all which were
actually sold at Cove : the shirt was bought by a man of this town for a
groat. And if you won't believe me, come and believe your own eyes.
In case you doubt either the facts or the reasonings, I am ready to make
them good, being now well on my feet, and longing to triumph over
you at Cloyne, which I hope will be soon.

The letters which follow, written to Prior, then at Dublin, in
January, February and March, 1747, bring almost the only light
that falls on Berkeley in the course of that year : —

Dear Tom,
Your manner of accounting for the weather seems to have reason m
it ; and yet there still remains something unaccountable, viz. why there

312 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

should be no rain in the regions mentioned. If the bulk, figure, situation,
and motion of the earth are given, and the luminaries remain the same,
should there not be a certain cycle of the seasons ever returning at
certain periods ? To me it seems, that the exhalations perpetually sent
up from the bowels of the earth have no small share in the weather;
that nitrous exhalations produce cold and frost ; and that the same causes
which produce earthquakes within the earth produce storms above it.
Such are the variable causes of our weather ; which, if it proceeded only
from fixed and given causes, the changes thereof would be as regular as
the vicissitudes of the days, or the return of eclipses. I have writ this
extempore, Valeat quantum valere potest.

In my last I mentioned my cousin's death. My brothers and I
are his heirs at law. I know nothing of his circumstances. He
has been captain of a man of war for about twenty years, and
must have left something. It is true he always commanded great
ships, which have the fewest opportunities of getting, his very first
having been a sixty gun ship : but still, as I said, there must be some-
thing probably worth looking after. I would therefore be advised by
you what course to take. Would it not be right to employ your friend
the solicitor, Mr. Levinge, to enquire at the late Captain George
Berkeley's house in Lisle street, and see what is become of his effects ?
Also to examine whether he has left a Will, and what it contains "'^ } If
this be the right way, pray lose no time. Adieu, dear Tom. Your
affectionate humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.

Cloyne, Feb. 6, 1746 — 7.

Dear Tom, Desire your friend Mr. Levinge, without delay, to enter a
caveat, in my name, in Doctor's Commons, against any one's taking out
administration.

Cloyne, Feb. 9, 1746 — 7.
Dear Tom,

You ask me if I had no hints from England about the Primacy. I
can only say, that last week I had a letter from a person of no mean

''^ I have obtained from Doctors' Com- keley.' The Earl and Countess of Berkeley,

mons a copy of Captain George Ber- and Lord Dursley, receive small bequests,

keley's Will, referred to in this and the There is no reference to Bishop Berkeley,

following letters. It is dated November 19, nor any light upon the relationship of

1746, and it was proved on the 23rd of Captain George Berkeley to Earl Berkeley.

January, 1 747. He describes himself as of Brome and Young are mentioned as exe-

' Lisle Street, Westminster.' He bequeaths cutors, and his mortgage is left to the

£ico 'to my cousin Captain William Ber- former. There were two witnesses.

VIII.] Philanthropy and PJiilosopJiy at Cloy'nc. 313

rank in England, who seemed to wonder thai he could not find I had
entertained any thoughts of the Primacy, while so many others of our
bench were so earnestly contending for it. He added, that he hoped I
would not take it ill if my friends wished me in that station. My answer
was, that I am so far from soliciting, that I do not even wish for it ; that
I do not think myself the fittest man for that high post ; and that there-
fore I neither have, nor ever will, ask it.

I hear it reported that my cousin died worth above eighteen thousand
pounds. He had spent the summer at the Earl of Berkeley's hunting-
seat in Wiltshire. He came to town in an ill state of health, which he
hoped Dr. Mead would have set right, but was mistaken. Had I known
his illness, perhaps it might have been better for him. The Earl of
Berkeley's agent, one Mr. Young, who was also my cousin's agent, pre-
tends to be executor, with another gentleman, one Mr. Brome. By all
means take the readiest method, that some person whom you know at
London gets a sight of the original Will ; and you will do a good service

to, dear Tom, your faithful servant,

G. CLOYNE.

I am unknowing in these matters ; but think that the best advice how
to proceed.

Cloyjie, Feb. 10, 1746 — 7.
Dear Tom,

In my other letter that comes to you this post, I forgot to say what I
now think very necessary, viz. that you must be so good as to get your
friend by all means to send a copy of the Will, written in a close hand,
by post, without loss of time.

In a letter from England, which I told you came a week ago, it was

said that several of our Irish bishops were earnestly contending for the

Primacy. Pray who are they } I thought Bishop Stone was only talked

of at present. I ask this question merely out of curiosity, and not from

any interest, I assure you ; for I am no man's rival or compedtor in this

matter. I am not in love with feasts, and crowds, and visits, and late

hours, and strange faces, and a hurry of affairs often insignificant. For

my own private satisfaction, I had rather be master of my time than wear

a diadem. I repeat these things to you, that I may not seem to have

declined all steps to the Primacy out of singularity, or pride, or stupidity,

but from solid motives. As for the argument from the opportunity of

doing good, I observe that duty obliges men in high stations not to

decline occasions of doing good ; but duty doth not oblige men to solicit

such high stations. Adieu. Yours,

G. CLOYNE.

314 Z^^' and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Cloy ne, Feb. 19, 1746 — 7.
Dear Tom,

It was very agreeable to hear you had taken proper measures to
procure a copy of my cousin's Will, and to enter the caveat.

The ballad you sent has mirth in it, with a political sting in the tail ;
but the speech of Van Haaren is excellent. I beheve it Lord Chester-
field's.

We have at present, and for these two days past had, frost and some
snow. Our military-men are at length sailed from Cork harbour. We
hear they are designed for Flanders.

I must desire you to make, at leisure, the most exact and distinct inquiry
you can into the characters of the Senior Fellows, as to their behaviour,
temper, piety, parts, and learning ; also to make a list of them, with each
man's character annexed to his name. I think it of so great consequence
to the public to have a good Provost that I would willingly look before
hand, and stir a little, to prepare an interest, or at least to contribute my
mite, where I properly may, in favour of a worthy man, to fill that post
when it shall become vacant.

Dr. Hales, in a letter to me, has made very honourable mention of you.
It would not be amiss if you should correspond with him, especially for
the sake of granaries and prisons. Adieu. Yours,

GEORGE CLOYNE

Cloyne, Feb. 20, 1746 — 7
Dear Tom,

Though the situation of tie earth with respect to the sun changes,
yet the changes are fixed and regular : if therefore this were the cause of
the variation of winds, the variation of the winds must be regular, i. e.
regularly returning in a c}xle. To me it seems that the variable cause
of the variable winds are the subterraneous fires, which, constantly burn-
ing, but altering their operation according to the various quantity or kind
of combustible materials they happen to meet with, send up exhalations
more or less of this or that species ; which, diversely fermenting in the
atmosphere, produce uncertain variable winds and tempests. This, if I
mistake not, is the true solution of that crux.

As to the papers about petrifications which I sent to you and Mr.
Simon, I do not well remember the contents. But be you so good as
to look them over, and show them to some other of your Society ; and
if, after this, you shall think them worth publishing in your collections,

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloync. 3 1 5

you may do as you please : otherwise I would not have things hastily
and carelessly written thrust into public view.

As to your query, there were two mad women recovered, it seems, by
a method we made use of, though not, as you have been told, by sweat-
ing. When you come, you shall know the particulars Yours,

GEORGE CLOYNE.

Cloyne, March 22, i'j46 — 7.
Dear Tom,

There is another query which arises on the Will, viz. whether a mort-
gage be not a freehold, and whether it can be bequeathed without three
witnesses .? This, and the two other queries of the residue, &c., I would
have stated to Mr. Kelly and my wife's cousin. He is a very sensible
man, and would consider the matter, as a friend, more attentively than
those who, of greater name, might offer their first ihoug-hts. Pray give
him the usual fee for the best lawyer ; and if he refuses to take it, tell
him you cannot take his advice if he does not take his fee.

As to what you say, that the Primacy would have been a glorious
thing ; for my part I could not see (all things considered) the glory of
wearing the name of Primate in these days, or of getting so much money ;
a thing every tradesman in London may get if he pleases. I should not
choose to be Primate in pity to my children ; and for doing good to the
world, I imagine I may upon the -whole do as much in a lower station.
Adieu, dear Tom. Yours affectionately,

G. CLOYNE.

I have discovered the following letter to Prior in the Phi/o-
sophical Transactions (No, 480). It is annexed to a communication
from Mr. James Simon to the Royal Society, ' Concerning the
Petrifactions of Lough Neagh in Ireland,' which was read in the
Society on the 9th of February, 1747. The property of turning
wood into stone had long been attributed to the water of
Lough Neagh. The tradition was confirmed by Simon, who had
previously sent his paper to the Bishop, through Prior. This
explains the allusion to 'papers about petrifactions.' The letter
is another illustration of Berkeley's interest in the observations
and speculations of natural science, which Siris had so lately
exemplified : —

3i6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Cloyne, May 20, 1746.
Dear Sir,

I HERE send you back the curious Dissertation of Mr. Simon, which
I have perused with pleasure ; and though variety of avocations gives me
little time for remarks on a subject so much out of my way, I shall never-
theless venture to give my thoughts briefly upon it, especially since the
author hath been pleased to invite me to it by a letter.

The author seems to put it out of doubt, that there is a petrifying
quality both in the Lake and in the adjacent earth. What he remarks
on the unfrozen spots in the Lake is curious, and furnisheth a sufficient
answer to those, who would deny any petrifying virtue to be in the
water, from experiments not succeeding in some parts of it; since
nothing but chance could have directed to the proper places, which
probably were those unfrozen parts.

Stones have been thought by some to be organized vegetables, and to
be produced from seed. To me it seems that stones are vegetables
unorganized. Other vegetables are nourished and grow by a solution of
salt attracted into their tubes or vessels. And stones grow by the accre-
tion of salts, which often shoot into angular and regular figures. This
appears in the formation of crystals on the Alps : and that stones are
formed by the simple attraction and accretion of salts, appears in the
tartar on the inside of a claret-vessel, and especially in the formation of
a stone in the human body.

The air is in many places impregnated with such salts. I have seen
at Agrigentum in Sicily the pillars of stone in an ancient temple corroded
and consumed by the air, while the shells which entered into the compo-
sition of the stone remained entire and untouched.

I have elsewhere observed marble to be consumed in the same manner ;
and it is common to see softer kinds of stone moulder and dissolve
merely by the air acting as a menstruum. Therefore the air may be
presumed to contain many such salts, or stony particles.

Air, acting as a menstruum in the cavities of the earth, may become
saturated (in like manner as above-ground) with such salts as, ascending
in vapours or exhalations, may petrify wood, whether lying in the ground
adjacent, or in the bottom of the Lake. This is confirmed by the
author's own remark on the bath called the Green Pillars in Hungary.
The insinuating of such salts into the wood seems also confirmed by the
author's having observed minute hexagonal crystals in the woody part of
the petrifactions of Lough-Neagh.

A petrifying quality or virtue shews itself in all parts of this terraqueous
globe — in water, earth, and sand ; in Tartary, for instance, and Afric, in

VIII.] PJiila7ith7^opy and Philosophy at Cloync. 317

the bodies of most sorts of animals : it is even known that a child hath
been petrified in its mother's womb. Osteocolla grows in the land, and
coral in the sea. Grottoes, springs, lakes, rivers, are in many parts
remarkable for this same quality. No man therefore can question the
possibility of such a thing as petrified wood ; though perhaps the petri-
fying quality might not be originally in the earth or water, but in the
vapour or steam impregnated with saline or stony particles.

Perhaps the petrifaction of wood may receive some light from con-
sidering amber, which is dug up in the King of Prussia's dominions.

I have written these hasty lines in no small hurry ; and send them to
you, not from an opinion, that they contain anything worth imparling,
but merely in compliance with your and Mr. Simon's request.

And yet, before I have done I must needs add another remark, which
may be useful for the better understanding of the nature of stone. In
the vulgar definition, it is said to be a fossil incapable of fusion. I have
nevertheless known stone to be melted, and when cold to become stone
again. Such is that stuff, by the natives called Sciara, which runs down
in liquid burning torrents from the craters of Mount ^tna, and which,
when cold and hard, I have seen hewed and employed at Catania and
other places adjacent. It probably contains mineral and metallic par-
ticles ; being a ponderous, hard, grey stone, used for the most part in
the basements and coinage of buildings.

Hence it should seem not impossible for stone to be cast or run into
the shape of columns, vases, statues, or relievo's ; which experiment may
perhaps, some time or other, be attempted by the curious ; who, follow-
ing where nature has shewn the way, may (possibly by the aid of certain
salts and minerals) arrive at a method for melting and running stone,
both to their own profit, and that of the public^*'.

I am, dear Sir,

Your most humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.

The following anonymous letter, the manuscript of which is
in Berkeley's writing, appeared in the Gentleman'' s Magazhie". It
is connected with the physical speculations about earthquakes in

'« Simon, in a note, confirms this by the Vesuvius in 1 71 7, 'as it appeared to that

testimony of ' a relation of his in France,' diligent observer of nature, Mr. Berkeley,

who had known of ' run' stone pillars. now Bishop of Cloyne,' given to Xhc Phtlos.

"" Vol. XX. p. 166. The same number Trans, by Dr. Arbuthnot. Ct. p. 78.
contains the account of the Eruption of

3i8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

the letters to Prior, and refers also to his tour in Sicily in 1718,
as well as to the famous earthquake at Catania: —

To the Publisher.
Sir,

Having observed it halh been offered as a reason to persuade th^
public that the late shocks felt in and about London were not caused by
an earthquake, because the motion was lateral, which it is asserted the
motion of an earthquake never is, I t?ke upon me to affirm the contrary.
I have myself felt an earthquake at Messina in the year 1 7 1 8, when the
motion was horizontal or lateral. It did no harm in that city, but threw
down several houses about a day's journey from thence.

We are not to think the late shocks merely an air-quake (as they call
it), on account of signs and changes in the air, such being usually
observed to attend earthquakes. There is a correspondence between the
subterraneous air and our atmosphere. It is probable that storms or
great concussions of the air do often, if not always, owe their origin to
vapours or exhalations issuing from below.

I remember to have heard Count Tezzani, at Catania say, that some
hours before the memorable earthquake of 1692, which overturned the
whole city, he observed a line extended in the air (proceeding, as he
judged, from exhalations poised and suspended in the atmosphere) ; also
that he heard a hollow frightful murmur about a minute before the shock.
Of 25,000 inhabitants 18,000 absolutely perished, not to mention others
who were miserably bruised and v/ounded. There did not escape so
much as one single house. The streets were narrow and the buildings
high, so there was no safety in running into the streets ; but in the first
tremor (which happens a small space, perhaps a few minutes, before the
downfall), they found it the safest way to stand under a door-case, or at
the corner of the house.

The Count was dug out of the ruins of his own house, which had
overwhelmed above twenty persons, only seven whereof were got out
alive. Though he rebuilt his house with stone, yet he ever after lay in a
small adjoining apartment made of reeds plastered over. Catania was
rebuilt more regular and beautiful than ever. The houses indeed are
lower, and the streets broader than before, for security against future
shocks. By their account, the first shock seldom or never doth the mis-
chief, but the repliches (as they term them) are most to be dreaded. The
earth, I was told, moved up and down like the boiling of a pot, terra
holletite di sotto in sopra, to use their own expression. This sort of sub-
sultive motion is ever accounted the most dangerous.

viil] PhilanthrGpy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 319

Pliny, in the second book of his natural history, observes, that all earth-
quakes are attended with a great stillness of the air. The same was
observed at Catania. Pliny further observes, that a murmuring noise
precedes the earthquake. He also remarks, that there is signuvi in ccclo,
prcEceditque violu fuluro, aut interdm, aui paulo post occasuni screno, ecu
tenuis liyiea 7iubis in longuin porrcctce. spaliutn ; which agrees with what
was observed by Count Tezzani and others at Catania. And all these
things plainly show the mistake of those who surmise that noises and
signs in the air do not belong to or betoken an earthquake, but only an
air-quake.

The naturalist above cited, speaking of the earth, saith, that varie
quatiiur, up and down sometimes, at others from side to side. He adds,
that the effects are very various : cities, one while demolished, another
swallowed up ; sometimes overwhelmed by water, at other times con-
sumed by fire bursting from the earth. One while the gulf remains open
and yawning ; another, the sides close, not leaving the least trace or sign
of the city swallowed up.

Britain is an isldind—maritima autem maxime qtiatiuntur, saith Pliny —
and in this island are many mineral and sulphureous waters. I see no-
' thing in the natural constitution of London, or the parts adjacent, that
should render an earthquake impossible or improbable. Whether there
be any thing in the moral state thereof that should exempt it from that
fear, I leave others to judge. I am your humble servant,

A. B.

After March 1747 we lose sight of Berkeley for nearly two years.
His extant correspondence is a blank for the remainder of that
year, and all through 1748.

The domestic circles in both the vales of Imokilly were saddened
in March 1748, by the death of Dr. Robert Berkeley's wife at
Ballinacurra.

Early in 1749, Berkeley reappears in this pleasant fragment of a
letter to Prior, who had lent him some pictures : —

Cloyne, Feb. 2, 1749.

Three days ago we received the box of pictures. The two men's
heads with ruffs are well done ; the third is a copy, and ill-coloured :
they are all Flemish : so is the woman, which is also very well painted,

320 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

though it hath not the beauty and freedom of an ItaUan pencil. The
two Dutch pictures, containing animals, are well done as to the animals :
but the human figures and sky are ill done. The two pictures of ruins
are very well done, and are Italian. My son William had already copied
two other pictures of the same kind, and by the same hand. He and
his sister are both employed in copying pictures at present ; which shall
be dispatched as soon as possible ; after which they will set about some
of yours. Their stint, on account of health, is an hour and half a day
for painting. So I doubt two months will not suffice for copying : but
no time shall be lost, and great care taken of your pictures, for which
we hold ourselves much obliged.

Our Round Tower stands where it did ; but a little stone arched vault
on the top was cracked, and must be repaired : the bell also was thrown
down, and broke its way through three boarded stories, but remains
entire. The door was shivered into many small pieces, and dispersed ;
and there was a stone forced out of the wall. The whole damage, it is
thought, will not amount to twenty pounds. The thunder-clap was by
far the greatest that I ever heard in Ireland'**.

Berkeley's Word to the Wise^ one of the most characteristic of his
performances, belongs to 1749. It condenses the spirit of the
^erist, in the form of an appeal to the Roman Catholic clergy of
Ireland to preach the gospel of work and self-reliance to their
flocks. It recals some of the tones v^hich thirty years before

'* This thunderstorm was on the loth of through the roof of an adjacent staWing —

January. The following is a more detailed the door, though secured by a strong iron

account: — 'After several weeks of tem- lock, was thrown above sixty yards distance,

pcstuous weather, and continual violent rain, into the churchyard, and shattered to pieces,

on Monday night, being the 9th of January which passage for the air greatly contributed

1 749, were seen several flashes of lightning, to the saving of the Tower. A few pigeons

attended with frequent claps of thunder, that frequented the top of the steeple were

which considerably increasing, on the fol- scorched to death, not a feather of them

lowing night, a flash of lightning passed being left unsinged.' — Smith's Hist, of Cork,

from west to east in a direct line through vol. II. p. 397. A similar account of this

this county. It first killed some cows to accident is give.i in Bishop Bennet's MS.,

the south of Cork, and in its progress struck where it is added that, with the same bad

the Round Tower of the Cathedral of taste which distinguishes all the architecture

Cloyne. It first rent the vaulted arch at the of that era, the vaulted stone roof of the

top, tumbled down the bell and three lofts, Tower was never repaired, but the height

and passing perpendicularly to the internal was lowered more than six feet, and a vile

floor, which is about eight feet higher than the battlement, in imitation of the worst English

outward foundation, the protruded column churches, substituted in its stead — all which

of air or lightning, or both together, by the may still be seen. The Round Tower of

igneous matter bursting and expanding and Cloyne, which is 92 feet high, is one of the

not finding sufficient room, vented itself by best in Ireland. The bell used for the

a violent explosion, forced its way through Cathedral, which is a ftw yards away, hangs

one side of the Tower, and drove the stones within the Tower.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloync. 321

sounded through his Address to the People of Great Britain. It was
like the good bishop, whose heart and philosophy declined confine-
ment to a part of Christendom, that this episcopal appeal was
addressed to those whom the popular voice in Ireland accepted as
the moral and spiritual guides of the people. The example of
candour and humanity was not lost. The Catholic clergy, as in
1745, willingly co-operated with their Protestant brethren. In
the Dublin Journal^ they returned ' their sincere and hearty thanks
to the worthy author • assuring him that they are determined to
comply with every particular recommended in his Address, to the
utmost in their power.' They add that ' in every page it contains
a proof of the author's extensive charity; his views are only
towards the public good ; the means he prescribeth are easily
complied with; and his manner of treating persons in their
circumstances so very singular, that they plainly show the
good man, the polite gentleman, and the true patriot.' A
gleam of social prosperity seems to have rested upon Ireland
about that time; notwithstanding an inequality in the laws and
arrangements of society, which has been since gradually dis-
appearing, until hardly any remnant is now to be found. Less has
been done in the way of bridging over ecclesiastical differences,
by that recollection of a common humanity and Christendom,
the want of which then made Berkeley's approach seem ' so very
singular' to persons in the circumstances of the Catholic clergy of
Ireland. It may be doubted too, when we look at Ireland as it is,
and as it has been, whether work and self-reliance are means to
social happiness ' easily complied with,' either by the Roman
Catholics or the Protestants of that country.

Later in the same year, the following letter to his old friend
Dr. Samuel Johnson ■''9 proves Berkeley's liberal interest in the Con-
gregationalist College of Newhaven, while it contains practical
suggestions about a projected College at New York : —

Reverend Sir, ^^^-^«^' ^"^^"^^ ^3- 1749-

I AM obliged for the account you have sent me of the prosperous
estate of learning in your College of Newhaven. I approve of the regu-
lations made there, and am particularly pleased to find your sons have
made such progress as appears from their elegant address to me in the

'^ The University of Oxford conferred the degree of Doctor in Divinity on Johnson in
February 1743.

VOL. IV.

32 2 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Latin tongue. It must indeed give me a very sensible satisfaction to
hear that my weak endeavours have been of some use and service to
that part of the world.

I have two letters of yours at once in my hands to answer, for which
business of various kinds must be my apology.

As to the first, wherein you enclosed a small pamphlet relating to tar-
water, I can only say in behalf of those points in which the ingenious
author seems to differ from me, that I advance nothing which is not
grounded on experience, as may be seen at large in Mr. Prior's Narrative
of the Effects of Tar- Water, printed three or four years ago, and which
may be supposed to have reached America.

For the rest, I am glad to find a spirit towards learning prevails in
those parts, particularly New York, where you say a College is projected,
which has my best wishes. At the same time I am sorry that the con-
dition of Ireland, containing such numbers of poor, uneducated people,
for whose sake charity schools are erecting throughout the kingdom,
obligeth us to draw charities from England ; so far are we from being
able to extend our bounty to New York, a country in proportion much
richer than our own. But as you are pleased to desire my advice on
this undertaking, I send the following hints to be enlarged and improved
by your own judgment.

I would not advise the applying to England for Charters or Statutes
(which might cause great trouble, expense, and delay), but to do the
business quietly within yourselves.

I believe it may suffice to begin with a President and two Fellows. If
they can procure but three fit persons, I doubt not the College from the
smallest beginnings would soon grow considerable. I should conceive
good hopes were you at the head of it*".

Let them by all means supply themselves out of the seminaries in New
England. For I am very apprehensive none can be got in Old England
(who are willing to go) worth sending.

Let the Greek and Latin classics be well taught. Be this the first care
as to learning. But the principal care must be good life and morals, to
which (as well as to study) early hours and temperate meals will much
conduce.

If the terms for Degrees are the same as at Oxford and Cambridge,
this would give credit to the -College, and pave the way for admitting
their graduates ad eundem in the English Universities.

Small premiums in books, or distinctions in habit, may prove useful
encouragements to the students.

*" This College was founded at New York in 1754, and Dr. Johnson was appointed in the
Charter the first President.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 323

I would advise that the building be regular, plain, and cheap, and that
each student have a small room (about ten feet square) to himself.

I recommended this nascent seminary to an English bishop, to try
what might be done there. But by his answer it seems the Colony is
judged rich enough to educate its own youth.

Colleges, from small beginnings, grow great by subsequent bequests
and benefactions. A small matter will suffice to set one agoing. And
when this is once well done, there is no doubt it will go on and thrive.
The chief concern must be to set out in a good method, and introduce
from the very first a good taste into the Society. For this end, its prin-
cipal expense should be in making a handsome provision for the President
and Fellows.

I have thrown together these few crude thoughts for you to ruminate
upon and digest in your own judgment, and propose from yourself, as
you see convenient.

My correspondence with patients that drink tar-water obliges me to
be less punctual in corresponding with my friends. But I shall be
always glad to hear from you. My sincere good wishes and prayers
attend you in all your laudable undertakings. I am, your faithful,
humble servant, q CLOYNE.

Communications to his American friends are the only relics
of Berkeley's correspondence in 1750. The first is a note to
Dr. Johnson : —

^^^ Sir, Cloyne July 17, 1750.

A FEW months ago I had an opportunity of writing to you and INIr.
Honyman by an inhabitant of Rhode Island government. I would not
nevertheless omit the present occasion of saluting you, and letting you
know that it gave me great pleasure to hear from ]\Ir. Bourk, a passenger
from those parts, that a late sermon of yours at Newhaven hath had a
very good effect in reconciling several to the church. I find also by a
letter from Mr. Clap that learning continues to make notable advances in
your College. This gives me great satisfaction. And that God may
bless your worthy endeavours, and crown them with success, is the
sincere prayer of. Rev. Sir,

Your faithful brother and humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.

P.S. — I hope your ingenious sons are still an ornament to Yale
College, and tread in their father's steps ^^

81 One of these sons, William Samuel American revolution, and aided in framing
Johnson, became one of the leaders of the the constitution of the United States. He was

Y 2

324 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

On the same day he wrote what follows to Mr. Clap, the Presi-
dent of Yale College ; —
Rev. Sir,

Mr. Bourk, a passenger from Newhaven, hath lately put into my
hands the letter you favoured me with, and at the same time the agree-
able specimens of learning which it enclosed, for which you have my
sincere thanks*^. By them I find a considerable progress made in astro-
nomy and other academical studies in your College, in the welfare and
prosperity whereof I sincerely interest myself, and recommending you to
God's good providence, I conclude with my prayers and best wishes for
your Society.

Rev. Sir, your faithful, humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.

In 1750, a small tract entitled Maxims of Fatriotism^ was printed
at Dublin. It is in the spirit of the ^luerist and the Word to the
Wise, and is to be found in every edition of Berkeley's works.
It is curious, however, (and hitherto unknown,) that on the title-
page of the original edition these Maxims are attributed to ' a
Lady.' Perhaps we owe them to Mrs. Berkeley, although two years
after this they were included by Berkeley in his Miscellany.

The Essay on Spirit^ attributed to Berkeley's old friend Dr. Clay-
ton, formerly Bishop of Cork, now Bishop of Clogher, also appeared
this year, and made a great noise. It was the occasion of some
thirty pamphlets. Little of permanent value emerged from the
wordy war. I do not find that Berkeley took any part in it,
though he and Malebranche were mentioned in the Essay as holding
a philosophy corresponding to that of Spinoza ^^.

The year 1751 opened in clouds at the episcopal residence of

afterwards President of Columbia College, is no other Substance in nature but God ;

from 1787 till 1800, when he retired to that modes cannot subsist or be conceived

Stratford, where he died in 1819, at the age without a substance; that there is nothing

of 92. in nature but modes and substances; and

*^ The ' specimens of learning ' here men- that therefore everything must be con-

tioned were some calculations by ' Berkleian ceived as subsisting in God. Which opin-

Scholars,' which Mr. Clap sent to Berkeley. ion, with some few alterations, hath been

The subject of one of them was ' The Comet embraced and cultivated by P. Malebranche

at the time of the Flood, which appeared in and Bp. Berkeley' {Essay on Spirit, p. 2).

1680, having a periodica] revolution of Cf. Appendix to Chevalier Ramsay's Philo-

5755 years, which Mr. Whiston supposes to sophical Principles (1 751). According to

have been the cause of the Deluge ; ' and Berkeley, at any rate, if men ' subsist in

of another, ' The remarkable Eclipse of God,' they do so freely or responsibly —

the Sun in the tenth year of Jehoiakim, whatever that involves. Intelligent effi-

nientioned in Herodotus, Lib. I. cap. 74, ciency, or causation proper, is the essential

and in Usher's Annals.' principle in his philosophy.

^^ ' The opinion of Spinoza was, that there

viil] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 325

Cloyne. A complication of diseases was gaining ground upon
the aged philosopher, and death visited his family. The young
artist William, his favourite son, by repute a handsome and
accomplished youth, died in February. ' The loss,' says Stock,
* was thought to have struck too close to his father's heart.' It
was the first great break in the family circle. The touching
letter which follows ^^, addressed probably either to Bishop Benson
or Lord Egmont, refers to this sorrow : —

My dear Lord, ^^'y'"^' ^^"""'^ ^' ^75i-

I WAS a man retired from the amusement of politics, visits, and what
the world calls pleasure. I had a little friend, educated always under
mine own eye, whose painting delighted me, whose music ravished me,
and whose lively, gay spirit was a continual feast. It has pleased God
to take him hence. God, 1 say, in mercy hath deprived me of this
pretty, gay plaything. His parts and person, his innocence and piety,
his particularly uncommon affection for me, had gained too much upon
me. Not content to be fond of him, I was vain of him. I had set
my heart too much upon him — more perhaps than I ought to have
done upon anything in this world.

Thus much suffer me, in the overflowing of my soul, to say to your
Lordship, who, though distant in place, are much nearer to my heart than
any of my neighbours.

Adieu, my dear Lord, and believe me, with the utmost esteem and
affection, your faithful, humble servant, q CLOYNE.

The Register of the Cathedral records that * William Berkeley,
son of the Lord Bishop of Cloyne, was buried March 3, 1751 ^V

It must not be forgotten that in these years it was a chief part
of Berkeley's daily happiness to guide the education of his children
— three sons and one daughter. The episcopal palace at Cloyne
was a scene of rural home education as well as of art ; and in
that education he sought to keep his young f^ock ' unspotted from

** Preserved in the Preface to Monck He used afterwards to say to his son George

Berkeley, p. ccccxxxvii, where we are told — I see William incessantly before my eyes.'

that ' William Berkeley was as beautiful, as By the way, we hoar nothing of the brothers

finely made, as his elder brother George; Rowland and Ralph, of Newmarket, at any

taller and more shghtly built; a most un- of the family gatherings at Cloyne.

commonly elegant youth— danced, as did In the register of baptisms at Cloyne, it

his brother, remarkably well.' is recorded that ' William Maclanc, son of

«5 ' On the day of the funeral,' we learn John Maclane of Cloyne, was baptised

from the Preface to Monck Berkeley, ''the October the 9th, 1 74S. William Berkeley,

Bishop's brother [Robert] and attending and Thomas Standish Street, godfathers,

friends dined with him, and no one would Jiilia Berkeley, godmother.'
have supposed that he had lost his idol.

326 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

the world.' He would not ' trust them to mercenary hands.' In
their childhood he instructed them j and even in his days of
sickness and old age, we are told that the education of his boys
was his constant anxious care.

Of the fruits of this home education little can be said. One,
as we have seen, died in early youth. Of another we hear almost
nothing. Of the third some account is given in the following
chapter. None of them, including the daughter, seem to have
brought much strength of constitution into the world; nor was
the defect remedied by the frequently administered doses of tar-
water. Perhaps in all we detect signs of the enfeebling effects
of a too secluded and anxious training.

A more sombre tone prevails after this at Cloyne.

The letters which follow were written in July, one to Johnson
at Stratford, and the second to the Rector of Yale College : —

Rev. Sir, Cloyne, July 25, 1751.

I WOULD not let Mr. Hall depart without a line from me in acknow-
ledgment of your letter which he put into my hands.

As for Mr. Hutchinson's writings, I am not acquainted with them.
I live in a remote corner, where many modern things escape me. Only
this I can say, that I have observed that author to be mentioned as an
enthusiast, which gave me no prepossession in his favour*^.

I am glad to find by Mr. Clap's letter, and the specimens of literature
inclosed in his packet, that learning continues to make a progress in
Yale College ; and hope that virtue and Christian charity may keep pace
with it.

The letters which you and Mr. Clap say you had written, in answer to
my last, never came into my hands. I am glad to hear, by Mr. Hall, of
the good heakh and condition of yourself and family. I pray God to
bless you and yours, and prosper your good endeavours. I am. Rev.
Sir, your faithful friend and humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.

^ John Hutchinson, born in Yorkshire in Principia of Newton, and tries to find in

1674, author of some curious works in mys- the Jewish Scriptures the elements of all

tical theology and philosophy, which at- religion and philosophy. He died in 1737,

traded disciples in last century — among and his works were afterwards collected,

others Bishop Home, Jones of Nayland, Some passages in Siris remind one of

and Dr. Hodges, Provost of Oriel. The Hutchinson, and it is curious that Berkeley

best known of his books is the Principia of should not have known his writings.
Moses (1724), in which he controverts the

viii.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 327

Rev. Sir, Cloyne, July 25,1751.

The daily increase of religion and learning in your seminary of Yale
College give me very sensible pleasure, and an ample recompense for
my poor endeavours to further these good ends.

May God's Providence continue to prosper and cherish the rudiments
of good education which have hitherto taken root, and thrive so well,
under your auspicious care and government.

I snatch this opportunity given me by Mr. Hall to acknowledge the
receipt of your letter which he put into my hands — together with the
learned specimens that accompanied it — and to assure you that I am,
very sincerely. Rev. Sir, your faithful well wisher and humble servant,

G. CLOYNE.

These notes exhaust our store of Berkeley's correspondence
with his Transatlantic friends. His friendly intercourse with
Yale College was maintained from the time of his stay in Rhode
Island to the end of his life — latterly, by occasional letters through
Johnson, or to the authorities. The mutual respect, and occa-
sional good offices which Berkeley helped to promote among those
who had been severed by ecclesiastical differences, were honour-
able to all concerned ^'^. Many more letters must have been
written by him to Johnson and others, and perhaps some of these
still exist, though I have not yet been able to discover them.
Those of most interest to the philosopher apparently belong to the
early period of the correspondence ^s.

The following is the latest relic, hitherto published, of a cor-
respondence of forty years with Thomas Prior : —

Cloyne, 30/// of March, 1751.

.... They are going to print at Glasgow two editions at once, in
quarto and in folio, of Plato's works, in most magnificent types. This
work should be encouraged. It would be right to mention it as you
have opportunity ^^

^ See Clap's History of Yale College ; gow printer, proposed to publish by subscrip-

Hawkins's Or/^ina/ Lexers ; Chandler's L«/e tion an edition of Plato, in ten vols.— a

of Johnson. proposal warmly supported by John Wilkes.

*' I have some remains of a correspond- It was repeated in 1 751 — m nnie vols.

ence between Johnson and Lieut.-Governor quarto and in folio. See Gent. Mag., Sept.

Cadwallader Colden (in 1744— 46), regard- 1751. Principal Blackwell of Aberdeen

ing Berkeley's philosophy — especially the offered to supply notes. His terms were

De Motu, in which Johnson vindicates the not accepted, and in the same year he

philosophy, against the misundcstanding of announced an edition ot his own. See

his correspondent. Colden afterwards wrote Gent. Mag. for August, 1 751. None of

a book on Action in Matter (1752). these proposals were carried out.

** In 1746, Foulis, the well-known Glas-

328 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

The Berkeley Papers contain the following letter from the Bishop.
It is addressed to Prior, is dated s6me months later than the
preceding scrap, and may have been the last letter Berkeley wrote
to him. Accordingly, it has a certain incidental interest, and it
is here printed from the original : —

Cloyne, August 6, 1751.
Dear Tom,

Brother Will. ^" in a few daies proposes being in Dublin. He brings
with him two debentures of mine drawn some time ago, I think in
1749. I must desire you to receive their value at the treasury. He
also carries with him a note of mine for fifteen pounds upon Gleadowe,
which you will put into his bank to my credit. The enclosed sum of
846 pds. 15 shill. you may leave in Alderman Dawson's bank, as like-
wise the value of my two debentures, sending me his note for the
whole, and seeing it placed in his books to my credit.

My intention was to have purchased ten debentures with this sum,
but am at a loss in what banker's hands to leave them. Do you know
any safe bank that would be at the trouble to keep my debentures
and receive their produce, letting the whole lye in their hands till such
time as I may hereafter have occasion to draw for it ? Perhaps if you
know Mr. Clements of the treasury you may get him to let my de-
bentures lye in his bank and give his receipt for them ; in which case
I would have them all ensured. Alderman Dawson, I doubt, is too
wealthy to take such trouble on him. But if nothing of all this can
be done, you will be so good as to place them in Gleadow's bank,
taking his receipt and directing him to receive the interest. It is the
bank I have dealt with above thirty years, and if you think it as secure
as another I should not desire to change it. There hath been some
talk as if the late change in our cash (being mostly Spanish) might
cause a run on some of our banks. If there be any likelyhood of this,
you'll be so good as to act accordingly. Instead of the books I
returned pray send the book called I'esprit des loix by the Baron
Montesquieu. Adieu dear Tom.

¥!■ affect humble serv*,

G. CLOYNE.

We have in the course of this year intimation of the declining
health of good old Prior, whose name carries us back to Berkeley's
schoolboy days on the Nore at Kilkenny, and to whose watch-
fulness we owe so much personal knowledge of his illustrious

^" This seems to be his brother, Captain tains the allusion I obtained only when this
William Berkeley. The letter which con- sheet was passing through the press.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 329

correspondent. Faulkner's Bublin Journal of Jan. 19, 1751, inti-
mated that ' Thomas Prior, who hath been lately indisposed, is
perfectly recovered, to the great joy of his friends and the public
in general.' But on the 22nd of October, in the same year, tlic
following announcement was made in the same newspaper: — 'Yes-
terday morning died, after a tedious and severe fit of illness,
Thomas Prior, Esq., one of the members of the Dublin Society for
the improvement of husbandry, and other useful arts, and secretary
thereof.' An eloge follows upon his piety and patriotism, and
encouragement of industry and self-reliance — ' always assisting the
poor in their sickness, he supplied them with that most excel-
lent remedy tar-water, without desiring any satisfaction but their
relief.^ And so another link connecting Berkeley with this mortal
life was broken.

After the death of Prior some letters passed between Berkeley and
the Rev. Mervyn Archdall, then a young clergyman in the diocese
of Cloyne, now known as the author of the Monastkon Hlbernicum'^'^ ,
Between the Archdall family and Prior there was apparently some
family connexion. Berkeley's letters are addressed to him at
Prior^s house, in Bolton-street, Dublin. Here is the first : — •

Cloyne, November 22, 1751.
Reverend Sir,

You will see by the inclosed paragraph, from Faulkner'' s Journal for
Saturday, November the i6th, that the late Bishop of Clogher"^ had left
gold medals for encouraging the study of Greek in the College. Now
I desire you will do me the favour to inquire what the value of those
medals was, and in whose custody they were left, and let me know.
Certainly if I had been informed of this, I should not have annually, for
eighteen years past, have given two gold medals for the same purpose,
through the hands of our friend Mr. Prior, who did constantly distribute
them, and charge them to my account. I must entreat you to get the
dye for those medals, which I left in Mr. Prior's hands, and secure it
for me.

°i Mervyn Archdall was descended of Ossory in 1761, where he enjoyed the

John Archdall, of Norsom Hall, in Norfolk, friendship of Bishop Pococke. He died in

who settled at Castle Archdall, in co. Fer- 1791. Archdall edited Lodge's Peerage of

managh. in the reign of James I. Mervyn Ireland, and left MS3. of antiquarian in-

was the son of William Archdall, who died terest.

at Dublin in 1751. He was born there in ^^ John Stearne, D.D., a munificent bcne-

1723, and got the livings of Nathlash and factor of the University of Dublin, who died

Kildorrery, in the diocese of Cloyne, in in 1745'
1749. He was removed to the diocese of

JJ^

Life and Letters of Berkeley, [ch.

There is also an account between Mr. Prior and me, of which I must
desire you to get a copy from the executor, and send it inclosed to
myself.

I must further trouble you to secure for me two small books which I

lent INIr. Prior, and cannot be had. One of them is a French translation

of Siris^"^ ; the other was a small tract relative to the same subject,

printed in America ^^. There are, I doubt not, many letters and

memoirs relating to cures done by tar-water among Mr. Prior's papers,

which I hope you will take care shall not be lost. What trouble you

are at in these matters will oblige. Reverend Sir, your faithful humble

servant,

G. CLOYNE.

P.S. All here send their compliments. The pictures borrowed from
Mr. Prior are this day boxed up, and shall be sent on INIonday to Corke,
to the Dublin carrier.

I add some fragments of other letters to Mr. Archdall. One of
the inscriptions to w^hich they refer was for a monument to Prior,
vv^hich may now be seen in Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin, with
Berkeley's tribute to his friend engraved on it : — r

Cloyne, Dec. 8, 1751.
Rev. Sir,

This is to desire you may publish the inscription I sent in Faulkner's
paper. But say nothing of the author.

I must desire you to cause the letters G. B., being the initial letters of
my name, to be engraved on the dye of the gold medal, at the bottom
beneath the race-horse ; whereby mine will be distinguished from medals
given by others ^^.

Cloyne, Dec. 22, 1751.

I THANK you for the care you have taken in publishing the inscription
so correctly, as likewise for your trouble in getting G. B. engraved on
the plane, at the bottom of the medal. When that is done, you may
order two medals to be made, and given as usual. I would have only
two made by my dye : the multiplying of premiums lessens their value.

If my inscription is to take place, let me know before it is engraved ;
I may perhaps make some trifling alteration.

'^^ Published at Amsterdam in 1745. side of the medal is a figure of Pegasus,

"* Cf. p. 321. with the legend Vos exemplaria Grceca —

'° Berkeley at this time gave £100 to his only bequest to the College, but a signi-

Trinity College, Dublin, to be spent on fica;it one. A Berkeley memorial window

two gold medals, which are still given has lately been placed in the College

annually, for proficiency in Greek. On one chapel.

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 331

[Undated, but sent at this time.]

For the particulars of your last favour I give you thanks. I send the
above bill to clear what you have expended on my account, and also ten
guineas beside ; which is my contribution towards the monument which
I understand is intended for our deceased friend. Yesterday, though
ill of the cholic, yet I could not forbear sketching out the inclosed. I
wish it did justice to his character. Such as it is, I submit it to you and
your friends.

Cloyne, Jan. 7, 1752.

I HERE send you enclosed the inscription, with my last amendments.
In the printed copy si quis was one word ; it had better be two, divided,
as in this. There are some other small changes which you will observe.
The bishop of Meath^^ was for having somewhat in English : accordingly,
I subjoin an English addition, to be engraved in a different character,
and in continued lines (as it is written) beneath the Latin ^''. The bishop
writes that contributions come in slowly, but that near one hundred
guineas are got. Now, it should seem that if the first plan, rated as two
hundred guineas, was reduced all altered, there might be a plain, neat,
monument erected for one hundred guineas, and so (as the proverb
directs) the coat be cut according to the cloth.

This letter from Bishop Benson ^^ exhausts vi^hat remains of
another long correspondence : —

^« Henry Maule, D.D., formerly bishop of aut ad bonas artes excitandas pertinet,

Cloyne. He died in 1758. id omne pro virili excoluit :

" Berkeley's inscription for the Prior Societatis Dublinicnsis

monument, enclosed in the above letter, was auctor, institutor, curator :

as follows :— Quae fecerit

' Memorise sacrum pluribus dicere baud refert :

Thom« Prior, quorsum narraret marmor

Viri, si quis unquam alius, de patria ilia quae omnes norunt,

optime meriti : ilia quae, civium animis insculpta,

Qui, cum prodesse mallet qiiam conspici, nulla dies delebit ?

nee in senatum cooptatus, ' This monument was erected to Thomas

nee consiliorum aulae particeps, Prior, Esquire, at the charge of several

nee ullo publico munere insignitus, persons who contributed to honour the

rem tamen publicam memory of that worthy Patriot, to whom

miriflce auxit et ornavit his own actions and unwearied endeavours

auspiciis, consiliis, labore indefesso : in the service of his country have raised a

Vir innocuus, probus, plus, monument more lasting than marble."
partium studiis minime addictus, A bust of Prior may be seen also m the

de re familiari parum solicitus. Hall of the Royal Dublin Society, in which

cum civium commoda unice spectaret : the features of Berkeley's friend arc strongly

Quicquid vel ad inopiae levamen marked,
vel ad vitee elegantiam facit, '^^ Berkeley Papers.

quicquid ad desidiam populi vincendam.

332 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Berry Street, Westminster ,
Feb. 1 8, 1752.
My dear Lord,

I AM very glad to hear in this that the symptoms you complained of
in your former letter are ceased ; but very sorry to find that in another
complaint still more sensibly affecting you there is, after so long time, so
little change made, and that the wound is still opening and bleeding
afresh ''^. Your Lordship inquires in your letter after Lord Pomfret. He
is lately gone to the Bath in a very bad state of body. But he has suf-
fered much more in his mind from the irregular and undutiful behaviour
of his son, now the only son left. He is as happy in his daughters,
as he is unhappy in him. He has lately married a fourth to Mr. Penn,
the proprietor of Pensylvania, a gentleman of good character as well as
great fortune, and a constant Churchman \ Your Lordship will reflect
how much sadder a cause he has for his than you for your grief. He
has lost a son living, you one dead, and one you can reflect upon with
great satisfaction as well as concern. He has no view of anything but
sorrow ever from his.

Your Lordship speaks of the loss of friends. 'Tis what I have been
so long experiencing, that I begin to comfort myself that my own age
will not allow me to lose many more. The mortality alone which I see
upon the Bench on which I am sitting must be very sufficient to put me
in mind of my own. In 17 years' time I have but four seniors upon it,
and many juniors besides I have lost. Are not things so durable as
these well worth the striving for .? One symptom of old age, if I feel
not, others I doubt will think very strong upon me, which is to be
querulous ; and if not laudator temporis acti, yet a censurer of the present
times. Which latter I am sure I have the greatest reason for, and
greater still likely every day to have. Your Lordship calls this the
freest country in Europe. There is indeed freedom of one kind in it,
more it is to be hoped than in any other — a most unbounded licentious-
ness of all sorts ; a disregard to all authority, sacred and civil ; a regard
to nothing but diversion and vicious pleasures. There is not only no
safety of living in this town, but scarcely in the country now : robbery
and murther are grown so frequent ^. Our people are now become, what
they never before were, cruel and inhuman. Those accursed spirituous

^" The allusion is to his son William's written, Fielding published an Enquiry into

death, in February of the year before. the Cause of the late Increase of Robbers,

' Another daughter married Lord Car- and contemporary periodicals record • ex-

teret. ploits of highwaymen near London.

^ A short time before this letter was

VIII.] Philanthropy and Philosophy at Cloyne. 333

liquors which, to the shame of our Government, are so easily to be had,
and in such quantities drunk, have changed the very nature of our people.
And they will, if continued to be drank, destroy the very race of the
people themselves.

The corruption of manners, profusion of expense, the bad condition
in which we and all our affairs are, and the good one into which the
French are putting themselves, their navy, their finances, and everything
else, are common and constant topics in Parliament and public, as well
as in conversation and private. But it is only matter of talk, and nothing
is done to prevent the evils which are coming upon us.

I have discoursed the Bishop of Bristol ^ about a tutor for your son,
and the person your letter mentions is the very person whom he designed
to recommend to you. I hope the comfort you will have in him will
be a balance for the sorrow you have had for the amiable son you have
lost. Mrs. Berkeley has always my sincerest respects ; and with the truest
regard I ever am, my dear Lord,

Your most faithful servant and affectionate brother,

M. GLOCESTER.

My Lord Berkeley desired me, when I wrote, to present his compli-
ments to you.

The last of all Berkeley's letters which remains is the following
characteristic effusion to Dean Gervais : —

Cloyne, April 6, 1752.

YouE letter by last post was very agreeable : but the trembling hand
with which it is written is a drawback from the satisfaction I should other-
wise have had in hearing from you. If my advice had been taken, you
would have escaped so many miserable months in the gout, and the bad
air of Dublin. But advice against inclination is seldom successful. Mine
was very sincere, though I must own a little interested : for we often
wanted your enlivening company to dissipate the gloom of Cloyne. This
I look on as enjoying France at second hand. I wish any thing but the
gout could fix you among us. But bustle and intrigue and great affairs
have and will, as long as you exist on this globe, fix your attention. For
my own part, I submit to years and infirmities. My views in this world

3 John Conybeare, D.D., succeeded Butler he died. He is known as the author of a
as Bishop of Bristol in 1750, and was also Defenceof Christianity against Tyudal, which
Dean of Christ Church, 1732—55, when appeared in 1732, and of some sermons.

334 I^tf^ ^^^^ Letters of Berkeley. [cii.

are mean and narrow : it is a thing in which I have small share, and
which ought to give me small concern. I abhor business, and especially
to have to do with great persons and great affairs, which I leave to such
as you who delight in them and are fit for them. The evening of life I
choose to pass in a quiet retreat. Ambitious projects, intrigues and
quarrels of statesmen, are things I have formerly been amused with ; but
they now seem to be a vain, fugitive dream. If you thought as I do, we
should have more of your company, and you less of the gout. We have
not those transports of you castle-hunters ; but our lives are calm and
serene. We do, however, long to see you open your budget of politics
by our fireside. My wife and all here salute you, and send you, instead
of compliments, their best sincere wishes for your health and safe
return. The part you take in my son's recovery* is very obliging to
us all, and particularly to, &c.,

G. CLOYNE.

Berkeley was now to remove to the academic retreat at Oxford,
for which he had long yearned ^. The home education of his son
George had prepared him for the University : this was the desired
opportunity. He resolved to send him to Oxford instead of to his
own mother university at Dublin. Stock says that he had ' a fixed
resolution to spend the remainder of his days in Oxford, with a
view of indulging the passion for a- learned retirement, which had
ever strongly possessed his mind, and was one of the motives
that led him to form his Bermuda project.' As he wanted, in
1724, to resign his deanery, now, in 1752, he wanted to resign
his bishopric, for he objected to non-resident bishops. He first
proposed to exchange Cloyne for an Oxford headship or canonry.
Failing in this, he wrote to the Secretary of State, and offered
absolutely to resign his bishopric. The singular proposal excited
the curiosity of George II. When the King discovered by whom
it was made, he declared that Berkeley should die a bishop in spite
of himself, but that he might live where he pleased.

Our glimpses of his last weeks in the ' serene corner '
where, for eighteen years, in the bosom of his family, he had
indulged in inquisitive philanthropy and meditation, reveal the
weakness and suffering of hopeless disease. His son George was

^ His son Henry is probably alluded to ^ Cf. letter to Sir J. James, in 1741,

here, and also in a former letter, in 1745. and to Prior, in 1746.

VIII.] Philanthropy aiid Philosophy at Cloyne. 335

matriculated in Christ Church in June e. The family delayed a
little longer in the old home. We have a few gleanings in the
registries and elsewhere 7. There were transactions in May with
the Reverend Marmaduke Philips, about a glebe house, and a fund
for the widows of the clergy of the diocese ; afterwards, arrange-
ments for leasing from year to year the episcopal demesne, during
his absence, at a rent of ;^2oo, which was to be annually dis-
tributed, until his return, among the poor householders of Cloyne,
Youghal, and Aghada • and on the 4th of August ' George, Bishop
of Cloyne, commissions Robert Berkeley, Vicar-General, to hold
visitations, while the said bishop is in parts beyond the sea.'

It was probably a day or two after this 4th of August that
Berkeley saw Cloyne for the last time.

* In the Register of Matriculation at Ox- stature, being 7 feet, g-J inches high ; but

ford, we find — ' Ter"" Trinitatus 1752, Junii he is clumsily made, talks boyish and simple ;

4*0, Georgius Berkeley, 18, Georgii, Lon- he came hither from Youghal, where he has

dini, j^d. Ch''., Episc. Fil.' The age of been a year going into salt water for rheu-

the student is indicated by ' 18,' and the matic pains which almost crippled him, and

birthplace by ' Londini.' the physicians now say they were growing

'' It has been said that among his other pains, as he is surprisingly grown within
odd experiments Berkeley contrived, by that time. He was a month at the Bishop
a special regimen, to convert a child of of Cloyne's, who took care of him ; his
ordinary size into a giant ; and Magrath, head is as big as a middling shoulder of
whose skeleton, seven feet nine inches in mutton ; the last of his shoe, which he
height, may be seen in Trinity College, carries about him, measures 15 inches.
Dublin, is reported to have been the subject He was born in the county of Tipperary,
of this experiment. (See Nates and Queries, within five miles of the silver mines.' The
1862.) The following letter, which I find fact is that Berkeley took this boy, who
in the Gentleman' s Magazitie for August, was early an orphan, under his care, the
1752, refers to the origin of this absurd Magrath family being in his diocese. Ma-
story : — 'Cork, July 30, [1752]. There grath was afterwards shown as the 'Irish
is now in this city a boy, Cornelius Magrath, Giant.' He died in 1758.
15 years, 11 months old, of a gigantic

CHAPTER IX.

OXFORD.— THE END. — THE FAMILY DISSOLUTION.
1752—1753-

In August 1752, Berkeley once more set out in quest of what
Swift had called ' life academico-philosophical.' Twenty-four
years before, when Swift had so written, his friend was bound
for an ideal university in the Summer Islands, the creation of
his own benevolent imagination. Now he was on his way to the
actual city of Colleges on the banks of the Isis, with its gathered
memories of almost a thousand years, to which sensibilities like
his were naturally drawn, and which for some years had been
before him in imagination as the ideal home of his old age.

He seems to have travelled to Oxford by the route usual in
those days — sailing from Cork harbour to Bristol. He was
accompanied by his wife, his son George, and Julia his only
remaining daughter. George was already matriculated at Christ
Church, and Henry, the eldest son, seems to have been left
behind in Ireland. I have not found any account of the depar-
ture or the voyage. There is a tradition that a number of
sorrowing neighbours accompanied the family to the ship, but
tradition does not inform us where the ship was. The waters
of the harbour of Cork approach, at Rostellan and Aghada, within
two miles of Cloyne. The party, however, probably embarked
at Cork, or at Cove, in one of the vessels which traded between
those places and Bristol — a voyage then of some two or
three days. James Wolfe, who was seven years afterwards the
hero of Quebec, seems to have made the same voyage about the

IX.] Oxford. 337

same time. He may even have travelled with the Cloync family
from Cork to Bristol ^

It must have been rather an arduous pilgrimage which the good
Bishop now undertook, for the indulgence of his parental tender-
ness, and to gratify his longing for the repose and ideal beauty
of the great English University. He was so much reduced by
suffering that he had to be 'carried from his landing on the
English shore, in a horse litter, to Oxford 2.'

Under the light of a day in early autumn, the party from Cloyne
reached the fair vale of the Cherwell and the Isis, and saw the
domes and Gothic church towers so associated with what is
noblest in English life and history, surrounded by the soft repose
of rural English scenery, all presenting to the thoughtful visitor a
spectacle unequalled of its kind in the world. At Oxford, accord-
ing to tradition, Berkeley lived with his family in a house in
Holywell Street, near the gardens of New College, and not far
from the cloisters of Magdalen. This can hardly have been his
first visit to the place for which he liad so characteristic a long-
ing. He might have been there a quarter of a century before, in
one of those country rambles in England to which he refers in
his letters to Prior, when he was preparing for America — or
perhaps on some of his still earlier visits to London. One letter in
which he names Oxford was written in 1733, when he alludes to
the approach of Commemoration, at which the entertainments of

' In an uiteresting chapter of Mr. Wright's south of Ireland, his voyage to Bristol, and

JAfe of General Wolfe (1864), there is a his tour in the west of England. We only

minute account of Wolfe's movements in know that he arrived at Blackheath on the

1752, when he was about twenty-five years night of Wednesday, September 2' — the

of age. In the early summer of that year he last day, by the way, of the uncorrected

was in the Highlands of Scotland, and, in calendar, for the next morning was Scp-

one of his letters from that remote region, tember 14.

he gives his father at Blackheath an account A fortnight after Berkeley's death, young

of the mysterious murder of Campbell of Wolfe wrote thus to his father from Paris :

Glenure among the Stewarts of Appin in — ' The good Bishop is at last released from

Argyllshire. In July he went over to the misery and pain that he has so long

Dublin to visit his uncle, old Mr. Wolfe, laboured under, oppressed by a disease at

who had long lived there. In another his time of life incurable. His death is not

letter to his father, from Dublin, he says that to be lamented otherwise than as concerns

after staying a few days in that city he his family. If there's any place for good

meant to ' set out for Cork, where I shall men hereafter, I believe he is at rest, and

embark in one of the Bristol shi-ps ; and if entirely free from all complaints.'
I find myself strong in health and circum- ^ Stock. The badness of the roads in

stances, shall continue my journey from England is the subject of articles in the

Bristol through the West and so home [to Gent. Mag. for 1752— in particular those

Blackheath].' His biographer adds, that from Bath to Oxford, and from Chester to

' no record is extant of these travels in the London,

VOL. IV. Z

33^ Life mid Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

music were to be ' the finest that ever were known.' But it does
not" appear that he went there then. Some years later the Oxford
tendency showed itself distinctly.

Nor can he have gone now entirely a stranger to the residents.
'He lived there,' says Stock, 'highly respected by the members
of that great University.' His friend, Dr. Conybeare, the Bishop
of Bristol, was Dean of Christ Church, and to him he had en-
trusted his son. Markham-^, afterwards Archbishop of York, is
said to have been his son's tutor, and seems to have been in
familiar intercourse. George Home, then a Fellow of Magdalen,
and afterwards its President, who became the close friend of young
George Berkeley, was probably no stranger in the house in Holy-
well Street"*. Seeker, too, had now held the bishopric of Oxford
for many years, and in 1750, when Butler was promoted to Dur-
ham, the deanery of St. Paul's was added to the preferment of
the Bishop of Oxford. About this period of his life, he was accus-
tomed to spend his summers in his palace at Cuddesden, and
his winters in London'. He was probably at Cuddesden when
the Cloyne family arrived at Oxford in August.

While Berkeley was exchanging Ireland for England, death was
removing his old friends. A short time before he left Cioyne,
he must Jiave heard of the death of Butler, at Bath, where Benson,
at the request of Seeker, affectionately watched the last hours of
the great author of the Analogy ^. Benson himself soon followed.
The fatigue and anxiety were too much for his tender spirit.
On the 30th of this August he too was taken away. Berkeley
could hardly have been settled in his Oxford home when he had
to bear this new sorrow. There are no' traces of close intimacy
between him and Butler : their mind and temperament were in a
different mould. Benson, whom he used to call ' Titus, the delight
of mankind,' had been his friend and correspondent for thirty years.

^ William Markham was Dean of Christ nian principles. He became a Fellow of

Church 1767—77; Bishop of Chester, 1771. Magdalen in 1749. He is popularly known

In 1776 he was translated to the arch- as the writer of a devout Commentary on

bishopric of York, which he held till his the Psalms,
death in 1807. •• See Porteous's Life of Seeker.

* Horne (afterwards Bishop of Norwich) " Butler died June 16, 1752. Tar-water

was ai this time author of a satirical tract on was one of the remedies tried in his last

the Theology and Philosophy of the Somnium illness, as Benson says, in a letter to Seeker,

Scipio?iis (1751), and soon after of an attack among the Seeker MSS.
on the Newtonian philosophy, on Hutchinso-

IX.]

Oxford.

339

He perhaps saw him for the last time in London, before he went
to Cloyne. At any rate Benson was not able to greet him on
his return to England. Seeker, in his unpublished diary, records
that 'Berkeley, the Bishop of Cloyne, came to Oxford this summer
[1752], before his friend Benson's death; but I think not before
he went through Oxfordshire, so that he did not see him''.'

It is a pity that our picture of Berkeley at Oxford is so dim.
The recluse philosopher, with his refined social idealism, nowhere
left very distinct local traces, and he was now almosi withdrawn
from society by disease and suffering. But one is sorry not to
live with him for a little in a place like this ; even though Oxford
in the middle of the eighteenth century was living on the inherited
glories of the past, and the intellectual and religious revolutions, of
which it has since been the centre, were then in the distant future.
Learning was at its lowest ebb in the schools, and there was hardly
any philosophic thought there or in England. The stagnation of
that generation was only beginning to be moved by the religious
fervour of Wesley, whose sermons in St. Mary's, a few years earlier,
denounced with prophetic boldness the frivolous life of the Uni-
versity. Among the dons of Oxford in 1752, no name is associated
with more than mediocrity. A few years earlier, however, the

•^ Seeker MSS. at Lambeth. It will be
remembered that Benson was married t(3
Seeker's sister. No life of this much-loved
friend of Berkeley has been written. Ac-
cording to Porteous, in his Life of Seeker,
Benson ' was educated at the Charter-house,

Bishop of Gloucester, and from that see he
would never remove. He was, however,
a vigilant and active prelate. He revived
the very useful institution of rural deans —
he augmented several livings — he beautified
the church, and greatly improved the palace.

and removed from thence to Christ Church His piety, though awfully strict, was

in Oxford, where he had several noble pupils,
whose friendship and veneration for him
continued to the end of his life. His
favourite study in early years was the
mathematics, in which he was well skilled;
and he had also an excellent taste for painting,
architecture, and the other fine arts. He
accompanied the late Earl of Pomfret in his
travels, and in Italy became acquainted with
Mr. Berkeley, as he did at Paris with Mr.
Seeker. He was from his youth to his
latest age the delight of all who knew him.
His manner and behaviour were the result
of great natural humanity ; polished by a
thorough knowledge of the world, and the
most perfect good breeding, mixed with a
dignity which, on occasions that called for
it, no one more properly supported. It was
much against his will that he was appointed

inexpressibly amiable. It dilfused such
sweetness through his temper, and such a be-
nevolence over his countenance as none who
were acquainted with him can ever forget.
Bad nerves, bad health, and naturally bad
spirits, were so totally subdued by it, that
he not only seemed, but in reality was the
happiest of men. He looked upon all that
the world calls important, its pleasures, its
riches, its various competitions, with a playful
and good-humoured kind of contempt ; and
could make persons ashamed of their follies,
by a raillery that never gave pain to a human
beiuii, Of vice he always spoke with seventy
and "detestation, but looked on the vicious
with the tenderness of a pitying angel.'
George Whitefield was ordained by Benson
at Gloucester in 1739-

Z 2

340 Life and Letters of Bei^keley, [ch.

future author of the Wealth of Nations went to study there. And in
the April of this very year, Edward Gibbon entered Magdalen
College, to spend fourteen months, — according to his own account,
'the most idle and unprofitable of his whole life.' Among the
youths who sauntered in its beautiful gardens, during the winter
in which Berkeley was in Holywell Street, might have been seen
the future historian of the Roman Empire 8.

The following hitherto unpublished letter^ from Berkeley's friend
and episcopal neighbour. Dr. Jemmett Browne, Bishop of Cork
and Ross, addressed to 'the Lord Bishop of Cloyne at Oxford,'
which he must have received soon after his arrival there, helps
rather to relieve the faint vision we have of him in his English
academic retreat, but we cannot now recover 'honest George's'
account of the journey from Cloyne : —

My good Lord,

Had not honest George given me first an account of your voyage,
journey, and good health, I might have said I never received a letter
vi^hich gave me more pleasure than the one you favoured me with ;
tho' it was long coming, I suppose owing to the want of 3 or 4
pacquets.

I doe most sincerely congratulate you on your having made your
voyage and journey so easy^**, and on the good health you enjoy, and that
Mrs. Berkeley, Mrs. Juliana[.?], and George are well and all happy
together, and where you would be. I never doubted that the change
of air, and gentle exercise, and a new scene would be of use to you ; and
if you are provided with a convenient habitation I am sure you will meet
with every[thing] at Oxford that may make it agreeable to you; tho'
I must allow the loss of such a friend as the Bishop of Gloucester is
scarce to be repaired— he is indeed a loss to the Church also. It is,
however, I hope for your comfort that the worthy Bp. of Bristol! is so
near you ; but I have not the pleasure of being known to him ; I can
only judge of him from his writings and character, which raise him high
in my esteem, and as a Christian Bishop I rejoiced at his promotion.
He has highly honoured me by his favourable mention of me to you,

* Gibbon's picture of Oxford in 1752 — 53, an account of Bishop Jemmett Browne,
in his Memoirs of bis Life, is well known ; ^° It appears, from the register of the

also Adam Smith's reference to Oxford, as it weather in that year, that after the middle

was in 1740 — 47, in the Wealth 0/ Nations. of August 'it became fair and clear,' and

^ Berkeley Papers. Cf. note, p. 284, for so continued till the 25th.

IX.] Oxford, 341

and I should be oblidged to your Ldp. if you would present my best
respects to him, and assure him of my regard for him. I alsoe pray you
to present my compliments to Dr. Fanshaw", if he is so happy as to be
known to you.

I have scarce stirred from home but to my Visitation at Ross since
I saw you, and am not furnished with any news for you or the Ladies.
I suppose it is none yt Lady Dorothy and Count Dubois were marryed
lately in Shandon Church on a Sunday, and that they went off directly
to the County of Wexford. I shall be ready to set out to confirm in the
Diocese of Cloyne, as soon as Dr. Berkeley ^''^ has fixed the most convenient
time and places ; the wheather has been so bad untill now that the roads
were very deep, &c. I must again repeat it that I pray you may not
spare to employ me in any duty in your Diocese that you may wish to
have done, as I should chearfull contribute all in my power to prevent
your absence being attended with any inconvenience to you. If )Ou
have looked into a late performance of Dr. Hodges, addressed to
Dr. Conybeare, or hear a good account of it, I should be glad to know
it, and would send for it ; from his treatise on Job I am inclined to
think well of any performance of his^^ I am sorry to be able to inform
you that the Bp of C^. pushed to be our Metropolitan", for I fear he would
not have attempted it had he not had some powerfull support. INIy
family, thanks to God, are all tolerably well except the chil .... and
most sincerely wish you and yours well. I look well and am growing
fat, but I sensibly feel that I am growing feeble. Should I ever come to
debate about a jaunt to Bath or Spaws— my friends at Oxford would,
I believe, determine me for going — for really I long to see you all. I
pray you to present my sincere good wishes to Mrs. Berkeley, Miss Berke-
ley, and honest George, and be assured, my good Lord, that I am

Your Lordship's
most affectionate brother and faithful servant,

JEMMETT CORKE AND ROSS.
Corke, Sept. 28, 1752.
I had thought of enclosing this to B. of Bristoll but I cannot get a fk.

" Then Regius Professor of Divinity, pre- the interpretation of Elohim, which was pub-

viously of Greek, at Oxford. Hshed at Oxford in March 1752 and is the

12 The rector of Midleton, who was com- work here referred to. Both books .ittracted

missioned to hold visitations during his some attention at the tnne, partly for their

brother's absence Hutchinsonianism.

1= Waher Hodges, D.D., was Provost of '* Dr. Whitcombe. Bishop of Down a„d

Oriel (i727_cO. In 1750 he published Connor, was in August 1752 made Arcn-

Elihn,or an Inquiry into the Book of Job, bishop of Cashel, in which province were

followed by The Christian Plan exhibited in Cork and Cloyne.

342 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Berkeley was once more to address the world. In October
1 752, ^A Miscellany containing several Tracts on various Subjects^ by
the Bishop of Cloyne,' was published simultaneously in London
and Dublin. With one exception, the Miscellany was a reprint
of works previously published ^^. But the old ardour was not
extinguished. It contains also Further Thoughts on Tar Water.,
written probably during his last months at Cloyne ^ and prefixed
to the Miscellany is a copy of Latin verses addressed to him by an
English prelate on that absorbing enthusiasm of his old age^^.

A third edition oi Alclphron., of which I have given a minute
account elsewhere", was also published at this time. It is chiefly
remarkable for its omission of those sections in the Seventh
Dialogue which contains a defence of what has been called his

*' The contents of the Miscellany are as ricans to Christianity, by a College to

follows : — be erected in the Summer Islands,

1 . Further Thoughts on Tar Water. otherwise called the Isles of Bermuda.

2. An Essay towards preventing the Ruin 10. A Sermon preached before the Incorpo-

of Great Britain. rated Society for the Propagation of

3. A Discourse addressed to Magistrates the Gospel in Foreign Parts, at their

and Men in authority, occasioned by anniversary meeting in the Parish

the enormous licence and irreligioti Church of St. Mary-le-Bow, on Fri-

of the Times. day, February 18, 1735.

4. A Word to the Wise : or, an Exhorta- \i. De Motu ; sive de Motus Principio et

tion to the Roman Catholic Clergy Natura, et de causa Communicationis

of Ireland. Motuum.

5. A Letter to the Roman Catholics of the The Miscellany has for its motto on the

Diocese of Cloyne. title-page^

6. Maxims concerning Patriotism. ' Modo me Thebis, modo ponit Athenis.'

7. The Querist: containing Several Que- i" This is an appreciative Latin 'Ode to

ries proposed to the consideration of the author of Siris, by the R. R. T. L. B. O.
the Public. N." [Rt. Rev. the Ld. Bp. of Norwich ?—

8. Verses by the Author on the Prospect then Dr. Hayter] which also appeared in

of planting Arts and Learning in the Gentleman's Magazine in October 1 75-2,
America. in English as well as in Latin. Here

9. A Proposal for the better supplying of Berkeley is ranked with Hippocrates and

Churches in our Foreign Plantations Sydenham, Newton and Boyle, and addressed
and for Converting the Savage Ame- as one who —

' like them displayed
The laws which heaven, earth, air, and seas obeyed ;
Hast taught ivhat quiclieni/ig flame, luhat active soul.
Pervading Natt,re, animates the whole;
The sinewy limbs with vital force distends ;
Blows in the flower, and in the root descends.
The plant still varies as our wants require.
And gives us clothing, medicine, food, and fire ;
But chief the lofty Fir ; salubrious tree !
What strains of grateful praise are due to thee :
To thee, the glory of the north designed.
Set in some hour designed to bless mankind.'

" Berkeley's Works, vol. IL — Appendix.

IX.] Oxford. 343

Nominalism. But there is no indication, here or anywhere, of
a further unfolding of his philosophical principles, as the result of
the years of study which followed the publication of Siris, nor any
reference to contemporary speculation. It is rather curious that
although David Hume's ' still-born ' Treatise of Human Nature had
then been before the world for fourteen years, and his Ivquiry con-
cerning Human Understanding for nearly four years, no allusion to
Hume is to be found either in the published or the hitherto un-
published writings of Berkeley. Yet he was Berkeley's intellectual
successor in the leadership of European thought, as far as specula-
tive power, subtlety, and the general line of inquiry pursued are
concerned^ and in both these works the Scotch philosopher gives
his own negative solution of the chief questions which Berkeley
had pursued from youth to old age. Berkeley's attack upon ab-
stractions, as well as his metaphysical analysis of mathematical
quantity and of the material world, largely influenced the philo-
sophical education of Hume • as Hume in his turn awoke Kant,
and through Kant modern Germany. Berkeley, Hume, and
Kant were the three great speculative minds of the eighteenth
century, connected in chronological and philosophical succession.
They held respectively the supreme intellectual place in the
beginning, in the middle, and in the latter part of the century.
Hume had produced his philosophy, and even Kant had begun to
write before Berkeley died; Kant's name, however, was hardly
known in England half a century later. Hartley's Observations on Man
appeared in 1749, and followed a course of thought at some points
parallel with that of Berkeley, but Hartley too is unnamed. That
Reid, who has since been so connected popularly with Berkeley
by antagonism, should also have been unknown is not wonderfuP*.
In 1752 he was the author only of a now forgotten tract on
^luantity -y his first psychological work, the htquiry^ in which
Berkeley is a prominent figure, was not published till 1764^''.

It was in the year when Berkeley was at Oxford that Dr.
Samuel Johnson published the Element a Fhilosophica, containing

i« Reid seems to have been a pupil of his about forty years after their first publication.

friend Black well at Aberdeen. The Gentleman s Magazine, m 1751 and

'« Berkeley's early philosophical works— 1752, has frequent slight discussions oJ

his New Theory of Vision and Principles of points in his theory of vision and of the

Human Knowledge — began now to engage nature of sensible things,
some attention in English periodical literature,

344 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cH.

Noetica and EthicUj in which the new conception of the material
world was adopted and applied. This work, referred to in a
former chapter, is remarkable for the prominence given to pure
intellect and its acts or notions, intellectual light, and intuitive
evidence, as well as for its adoption of Berkeley's visual symbolism,
and analysis of sensible reality.

And so the autumn and winter of 1752 were passing away, as
we may fancy, in that enjoyment of academic repose which was
possible in weakness of body more or less disturbed by acute
suffering. We are here left to fancy. One actual scene has alone
been preserved. On the evening of Sunday the 14th of January,
1753, Berkeley was resting on a couch, in his house in Holywell
Street, surrounded by his family. His wife had been reading
aloud to the little family party the lesson in the Burial Service,
taken from the fifteenth chapter of the first epistle to the Corinth-
ians, and he had been making remarks upon that sublime passage.
His daughter soon after went to offer him some tea. She found
him, as it seemed, asleep, but his body was already cold; for it
was the last sleep — the mystery of death j and the world of the
senses had suddenly ceased to be a medium of intercourse between
his spirit and those who remained. 'Although all possible means,'
we are told, ' were used, not the least symptom of life ever after-
wards appeared -".'

^" I have here chiefly followed the account One evening he and his family were sitting

which has the sanction of Mrs. Berkeley and drinking tea together ; he on one side

(Biog. Brit. vol. III. — 'Addenda and Corri- of the fire, his wife on the other, and his

genda '). Stock says that it was ' a Sermon daughter making the tea at a little round

of Dr. Sherlock's which his lady was reading table just behind him. She had given him

to him.' A fuller narrative is given in the one dish which he had drunk. She had

Life of Newton, Bishop of Bristol. ' Few poured out another, which was left standing

persons,' says his biographer, ' have such some time. " Sir," said she, " will you not

an easy passage out of life [as Bishop take your tea ? " Upon his making no kind

Newton]. Something of the same kind of answer she stooped forward to look upon

is related of Bishop Berkeley. It is well him, and found that he was dead ! ' (Life,

known that this worthy good man was p. 207.) Berkeley's death is thus announced

for some of the last years of his life de- in Faulkner's Dublin Journal of Jan. 23 :

sirous of changing his bishopric of Cloyne ' On Sunday sevennight, died at Oxford of

for a canonry of Christ Church in Oxford. an apoplexy, the Rev. Dr. George Berke-

If he had been bred at Oxford the wonder ley. Bishop of Cloyne. He came to that

would have been less of his desiring such an place about the end of July last, intending

exchange; but he received his education at to enjoy there (what he was pleased to call)

Trinity College in Dublin. It was an ex- a learned retirement ; where he was held in

traordinary request, and such as by no such high esteem, that his short stay there

means he could obtain; but yet he came has doubled the grief of his acquaintance

and took a house and settled in Oxford. for the loss of one of the most excellent of

IX.] Oxford. — The End. 345

Six days later, on the 20th of January, he was buried in the
chapel of Christ Church^i. His memory was thus entrusted to the
University which he loved, with which death, and his own admira-
tion for it when he lived have associated his name.

On the day of Berkeley's burial his Will was proved at London.
This is a curious and characteristic production. It was brought
into light for the first time, in the summer of 1870, at Doctors'
Commons, from the dust and darkness of more than a hundred years.
It was written, it seems, in the July before he died — that July in
which he was winding up his affairs at Cloyne, leaving his de-
mesne lands for the poor, and making arrangements for the
visitation of the diocese after his departure. Here is a copy,
officially extracted from the Principal Registry of Her Majesty's
Court of Probate : —

In the name of God, Amen. I, George Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne,
being sound of mind and memory, do make this my last Will and
Testament.

First, I do humbly recommend my Soul into the hands of my blessed
Redeemer, by whose merits and intercession I hope for mercy.

As to my Body and Effects, I dispose of them in the following
manner : —

It is my will that my Body be buried in the church-yard of the parish
in which I die :

Item, that the expense of my funeral do not exceed twenty pounds,
and that as much more be given to the poor of the parish where I die :

Item, that my Body, before it is buried, be kept fave days above
ground, or longer, even till it grow offensive by the cadaverous smell,
and that during the said time it lye unwashed, undisturbed, and covered
by the same bed clothes, in the same bed, the head being raised upon
pillows :

Item, that my dear wife Anne be sole executrix of this my Will, and
guardian of my children— to which said wife Anne I leave and bequeath

men.' Details, nearly as given above, are hypochondria— all apparently increased by

added in the following number of the Biihlin his sedentary life in his later years.
Journal. See also Gent. Mag. for January =• The Christ Church Register contains

1753, where it is said that Berkeley intended the following record : — v^ p ■ v, K
a three years' residence at Oxford. The ' January y" 20th, 1753. » "J^'gn^Jj^'^v*^-

disease from which he had suffered so long rend John Berkley (sic) L'' 15'' ol Cloyne

was nervous colic, aggravated by a compli- was buryed.
cation of other maladies, and with frequent

346 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

all my worldly goods and substance, to be disposed of as to her shall
seem good :

Item, it is my will that in case my said wife should die intestate, all my
worldly goods, substance and possessions of what kind soever, shall be
equally divided among my children :

In witness whereof I have herewith put my hand and seal this thirty-
first day of July, anno Domini, one thousand seven hundred and fifty-
two.

GEORGE CLOYNE.

Signed, sealed, and declared to be the last Will of George Berkeley,
Bishop of Cloyne, in the presence of us who, at his desire and in his
presence, have subscribed our names.

MARMADUKE PHILIPS.

RICHARD BULLEN.

JAMES HANNING, N.P.^^

Proved at London before the Judge, on the 20th of January, 1753, by
the oath of Anne Berkeley, widow, the relict of the deceased, and sole
executrix named in the said Will, to whom administration was granted,
being first sworn by commission duly to administer.

What incident, or what train of thought, induced the curious
provision about the ' body/ one can only conjecture. That the
'effects' were inconsiderable may almost be inferred from Ber-
keley's habits of diffusive benevolence, as well as from signs of
uneasy circumstances in his family not long after his death.

The spot in the chapel of Christ Church where his body was

^^ Though the place at which the Will (Dublin, 1765). He died in 1770. See

was signed is not mentioned, it must have Brady's Records, vol. II. p. 238.
been Cloyne, as the witnesses were Cloyne (b) Richard Bullen was Rector of Kil-

people : — nemartery, in the diocese of Cloyne (1740 —

(a) Marmaduke Philips, D.D., was one 76), and afterwards of Donaghmore, till his

of the Prebendaries of Cloyne, (l 751— 73), death in 1789.

and Reclor of Inniscarra. He seems to (c) Hanning was Registrar of the diocese

have been an intimate friend of Berkeley. of Cloyne, and his name (and that of Bullen)

Cf- P- ZZh- He was author of a Sermon often occurs in the Rev. William Berkeley's

preached be/ore the Home of Commons on MS. Diary, in 1773. Cf. note, p. 282.
the Anniversary of the Irish Rebellion

IX.] Oxford. — The End. 347

laid is marked by an inscription which does not exaggerate the
extraordinary regard and love of his contemporaries: —

Gravissimo Praesuli,

Georgio, Episcopo Clonensi :

Viro,

Seu ingenii et eruditionis laudem,

Seu probitatis et beneficentiae spectemus,

Inter primes omnium aetatum numerando.

Si Christianus fueris,

Si amans patriae

Utroque nomine gloriari potes,

BERKLEIUM

Vixisse.

Obiit annum agens septuagesimum tertium^^ :

Natus anno Christi m.dc.lxxix.

Anna Conjux

L. M. P.

In person Berkeley, in the faint glimpses we have of him, by
description or portrait, seems of the ordinary height, handsomely
made, the face full and rather round, of fair complexion, with
dark brown, penetrating eyes, bushy eyebrows, and abundant
brown hair, the nose straight and large, the lips gently compressed,
and a well-formed chin. There is an expression of benevolent
thoughtfulness and simplicity, not without traces of the re-
fined humour which appears in his writings, and animated
by a mild, pious, persistent enthusiasm. He was naturally
strong and active, and remarkable for erect, manly grace,
but the robust body was latterly reduced by sedentary habits
and much study. The story of his life, his letters, and even
his portraits, show the contrast between what he was before,
and what he became after the Bermuda expedition. The restless
impetuosity of the period which preceded the stay in Rhode Island,
with the rich and varied social intercourse of those early years,
in England and on the Continent, was then suddenly, and as it
seemed congenially, exchanged for comparative seclusion, followed

23 This mistake about his age is noted by Stock. The inscription was written by
Dr. Markham.

348

Life and Letters of Berkeley.

[CH.

by broken health, and the almost unbroken quiet of family life
during eighteen years at Cloyne. He seems more sombre and
meditative after his return from America, and tempered more
by a tone of what Coleridge called ' other-worldliness,' as earthly
obJ2Cts gradually lost their lustre in the contemplated reality
of supernatural existence ''^^.

His spiritual physiognomy must be gathered from his writings,
and from the imperfect records of his life. By the unanimous
report of contemporaries, the charm of his conversation and
manner in society was unsurpassed — an easy flow of words, simple

** There are at least nine pictures of
Berkeley, in Britain, Ireland, and America.

In a former chapter I have given some
account of the Yale College picture by
Smibert, to which this volume owes its
engraving

Trinity College, Dublin, possesses three.
One of these is a full length painting, in
the Examination Hall, of uncertain history,
the artist unknown. It represents the
Bishop standing with a book in his left and
a pen in his right hand, the hair flowing
in dark waving lines over the shoulders.
Another, in the Fellows' Common room,
places him in a sitting posture, a wig
concealing the natural hair, and he seems
engaged in composing some work. The
third is in the Provost's house. It was
painted in I75I> for his friend Dr. Palliser,
the Vice Provost, in whose family it long re-
mained. It seems to be the latest, and is one
of the most interesting portraits of Berkeley.
A very good engraving has been taken from
it.

Another picture of Berkeley, now in
Dublin, is possessed by his descendant, Mr.
Robert Berkeley, Q.C., Upper Mount Street.
It seems to have been the earliest done of
all, for I am told it was painted when he
was in Italy. It came to its present pos-
sessor from Mrs. Sackville Hamilton,
daughter of Dr. Robert Berkeley.

Three other pictures are in England.

The oldest of these belongs to the Rev.
Dr. Irons, rector of Wadingham. It was
done by Smibert in 1725, when Berkeley
was living in London. It is rather less than
life size, a sitting posture, the left hand
resting on a book perpendicularly placed on
the knee, and the right supported on the
elbow of his chair. The dress is a plain
black cassock, large lawn bands, with a
clericnl cap fitting close to the head.

Another was the property of the Bishop's

grandnephew. General Sackville Berkeley,
and is now possessed by his son, the Rev.
Sackville Berkeley. It is a life size, showing
as far as the knees. The date is unknown.
He is dressed in episcopal robes. Some
labourers are seen at work through a win-
dow.

At Lambeth there is a life-size standing
figure, seen to the knees. He rests his left
hand on a blue covered table, above which,
seen through a square window, is a ship
with full sails on a dashing sea. There is
a small book in his right hand, inscribed
' Voyage to the Indies.' The eyes and hair
are dark brown, and the complexion almost
a ruddy brown. He wears episcopal robes.
The artist is not known.

There is, lastly, a remarkable picture of
Berkeley, said to be by Vanderbank, in his
lawn sleeves, with the ' broken cisterns '
which form the frontispiece of Alciphron
in the background. According to a letter
by Dr. Todd, in Notes and Queries (April
30, 1853), a picture corresponding to this
description was at one time intended for
Trinity College, Dublin, by the mother of
Monck Berkeley, and a curious letter from
her, dated February ig, 1797. is given by
Dr. Todd. She may have changed her mind,
as the picture was never presented to the
University. The one I refer to came into
the possession of the late Sir David Brewster,
in whose house at Allerly I had an oppor-
tunity of seeing it.

Engravings of Berkeley are not uncom-
mon, and Mrs. Berkeley, in the Preface to
her son's Poems, mentions ' a wonderfully
fine ivory medallion, taken of Bishop Ber-
keley at Rome, when a young man,' but this
I have not been able to trace. Nor can I
trace the picture done by Mrs. Berkeley,
and sent to Prior (cf. p. 308), or identify
it with one of those now mentioned.

IX.] Oxford. — The End. 349

and unaffected, but with turns of thought of surprising ingenuity,
served by a ready memory and fancy, and with information cor-
responding to his uncommon observational inquisitivencss. Of
the tones of his voice, whether Irish, or English, or cosmopolitan,
there is no account ; nor has any Boswell preserved examples of
his table-talk. Hardly anywhere, I almost think, do we come
nearer to him, in the daily life of his rather restless prime, than
when we follow him in the diary of his wanderings in Italy, now
given to the world, and there see how cordially he entered into
everything around him, how genial he was in his intercourse
with strangers, and how energetically inquisitive into the insti-
tutions and customs of the countries through which he passed.
His love for the beautiful, and his artistic eye, are shown in the
constant references to the treasures of ancient and modern Italy.
The good nature with which he meets the inconveniences of
travelling show how pleasant a companion he must have been.
One wishes for a diary of his life in Rhode Island — or in the
episcopal palace at Cloyne, domesticated among his children and
his poor neighbours, and among his books.

Most of his letters which have been recovered inadequately
represent the intellectual power which might have marked his
intercourse with friends to whom liigh speculation was con-
genial. They naturally reflect, in some measure, the qualities of
his correspondents. Thomas Prior, to whom so many of them
were addressed, was hardly one to draw out Berkeley's singular
powers of reason and imagination. Two of his letters to
Johnson show what his correspondence, for instance, with
Clarke, or with Butler, might have been: the few addressed to
Pope which remain, make us wish that we could recover morels.
Those to Dean Gervais are relieved by gleams of humour and
touches of pensive beauty, in the years of suffering at Cloyne.

At Cloyne he seems to have withdrawn more and more into his
library. He spent the morning and a great part of the day in
study, in the company often of Plato, whose manner he has caught
more nearly than any English writer. In the family dissolution,

"^ Pope, we all know, was moved to enthu- had written an Address to our Saviour,

siasm by his admiration for Berkeley. He imitated from Lucretius' compliment to

yielded to his judgment in omitting a pas- Epicurus, but omitted it, by advice ot Dean

sage in the original version of the Essay on Berkeley.'
Man. ' In the Moral Poem,' he says, ' I

350 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

his large and valuable collection of books and pictures was un-
fortunately dispersed after the death of his son ; and we cannot
now tell who were his favourite associates among the illustrious
dead. It appears as if his library contained many foreign books ^*^.

Berkeley was far removed from pedantry. He united much of
the learning of the scholar with a knowledge of the world that
was occasionally overborne by his own benevolent simplicity and
gentle enthusiasm. As a scholar he was accomplished rather than
profound. He wrote and spoke French fluently, and seems to
have been not less familiar with Italian. His Latin style was
clear, easy, and correct. His love for the languages and literature
of the ancient world was shown in the donations and bequests he
made to Yale College, and to Trinity College, Dublin ; and his
Italian diary, Alapkron^ and 6'/m, illustrate his classical accom-
plishments and philosophical learning. If one may judge of his
intimacy with the best English books by his own style, it must
have been extensive, for the purity and beauty of his language
are perhaps unequalled by previous prose authors. While he wants
the terse vigour of Hobbes, and the manly Saxon of Swift, he
is unapproached in the English literature of metaphysical philo-
sophy, in the power of adapting the expressions of ordinary lan-
guage to philosophical meanings the most subtle and refined 2'^.

No abstract thinker in these islands has produced works so
well fitted at once to excite metaphysical reflection, and at the
same time to cultivate the sentiment of artistic beauty. His
philosophy takes the form of a work of art, which raises wonder
by its ingenuity, if it sometimes disappoints us by its want of mas-
sive strength. What Cicero says of Plato's reasoning in favour of
the immortality of the soul, might be applied with more truth to
Berkeley's speculations on kindred subjects — though all the vulgar
philosophers in the world were to unite their powers, they could
not comprehend the ingenuity of the reasoning. The study of
his writings, and the contemplation of his life, is in itself an
education of taste and understanding. But it must be allowed
that he did not always see round the difficulties which he pro-

^" Preface to Monck Berkeley. the Academies of France ; a design in which

'•' He was deeply interested, it is said, in a Swift, Bolingbroke, and others were united,

scheme for promoting the English language but which came to nothing at the death of

by a society of wits and men of genius, Queen Anne.

established for that purpose, in imitation of

IX.] Oxford. — The End. 351

fessed to remove j and that, without a tincture of disingcnuous-
ness, he sometimes evades the question. The beauty of the
conception is unapproached by Locke, .ut we miss Locke's solid
force, or Butler's • and one sometimes feels in Berkeley's company
as if playing with speculation. In the fresh and singular trans-
parency of his thought, there is some want of the feeling of the
sublime and awful mystery of the universe, and a defect too of
the large grasp of reason which comprehends the involved diffi-
culties of a great intellectual whole — for Berkeley was acute, and
subtle, and uncommon, rather than endowed with masterly com-
prehension. Especially in his earlier works, one sometimes wishes
that his unborrowed, evidently self-elaborated thought, had been
balanced by deeper consideration of the thoughts of others, while
he might still exemplify his own words, in his first published
writing — ' Neminem transcripsi ; nuUius scrinia expilavi.'

A retrospect of his life discovers in it something else than dreamy
idealism. A practical vein, which reminds one occasionally of
Arnold or even of Paley, runs distinctly through his speculations
and his actions : he had this in common with the theological
moralists, and indeed the general tone, of the age in which he lived.
It is seen in his treatment of the disinterestedness of virtue, and
of the sanctions of supernatural reward and punishment. His
evident inclination was to bring everything — theologies and social
institutions included — to the test of utility and matter-of-fact j
though this tendency was, I think, less in his later years, for
instance in the metaphysical parts of Siris.

Prolonged study of the attempted performances and actual per-
formance of the life increases our sense of the goodness and purity
of its intention — even more than our reverence for its intellectual
power or sagacity. ' Non sibi, sed toti,' might truly have been
its motto. This was no Stoical life, but subject to the chivalrous
impulses of an ardent human heart — generous almost to knight-
errantry. The steadiness and intensity of its social sympathies
were expressed in its three great and holy enthusiasms — the
American enthusiasm of middle life — the Tar-water enthusiasm
of old age — and the enthusiastic spiritual conception of the
Universe which runs through all.

His spirit is seen in his religion. This governed his daily
actions, in an unwearied performance of duty, rather than ex-

352 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

pressed itself obtrusively in words, for he seldom made it directly
the subject of talk. Few have so exemplified the gentle self-sacrifice
of the Life unfolded in the Gospels. The mild, pious, candid,
and ingenious Berkeley, lived and died in charity with God and
men — like Locke his great predecessor, in communion of heart
with the Universal Church, by whatever name it was distinguished.
He was unperverted by controversial theology, and dead to
ecclesiastical ambition. While his taste and sensibility approved
of the grave and beautiful ritual of Anglican worship, and its
freedom from fanaticism, his large heart kept loyal to the Church
Catholic ; and he seemed always glad to escape from the disputes
of metaphysical theology^ to the practical religion of Charity.

After Berkeley's departure we have some glimpses of the family.
A long period of recluse life left few remaining friends to sympa-
thise with the little circle so suddenly bereaved. The splendid
society of long-past years in England, in which Berkeley used
to move, had passed away. Of the few bishops and other eccle-
siastical dignitaries with whom he corresponded in his later years,
Seeker was almost the only survivor. His wise friendship was
now at the service of the widow, and her son and daughter.
Among other letters of sympathy which I find among the Berkeley
Papers, there is the following, which was addressed to the widow
by Seeker, from whom, and from the Church, Butler, Benson,
and Berkeley had all been taken away within six months-^: —

St. Paul's Deanery, Jan. i6, 1753.
Madam,

I AM beyond expression surprised and grieved at the sad news which
I received from Oxford last night. May God who hath taken to Himself,
in wisdom and mercy, no doubt, that excellently great and very good
man, comfort you and yours, under this most sudden and heavy affliction,
in which I and my family bear a large, though we are sensible, a very
unequal share with you.

But even we have lost in him our oldest surviving friend. Within a
few months there * * * * had been still longer and more intimately

-® Seeker himself was a few j'ears after this translated from Oxford to Lambeth, where
he died in 1768.

X.] The Fa^nily Dissolution. 353

such. ' Help, Lord, for the godly man ceaseth ; for the faithful fail
among the children of men/

We heartily wish that we were nearer you, to give you such poor
consolation as we could. But you have the truest support within
yourselves, the knowledge and the imitation of his piety : and God
grant you, in this severest of trials, to experience the full [strength] of
it. If we can possibly be of service to you at this distance, if a retreat
at Cuddesden would be a relief, if a supply of m[oney] on this most sad
emergency would be a convenience, if in anything small [or great], we
can give a proof of that sympathy which we feel in the highest degree
****** But at least let us hear some way, as soon as you are able,
from yourselves, how you are. In the meanwhile we will hope it is as
well as your melancholy situation will permit.

I am, dear Madam,
Your most faithful, humble servant,

THOS. OXFORD.

Since I wrote this I have received good Mr. Berkeley's letter. God
be thanked, who hath enabled him to think so immediately, in so reason-
able and religious a manner. Our most fervent prayers are offered up
for you, and him, and dear Miss Berkeley.

The next, apparently in ansv/er to a letter v^hich has been
lost, is from young Berkeley to Seeker 2' : —

"^ Among the letters of condolence pre- and every day before our eyes, that we should

served in the collection of Berkeley Papers, be prepared for, rather than surprised at

the following, addressed to the son George- them. Though I confess when they come

by Lord Mornington", the grandfather of the so near as to our own fimily, grief and afflic-

Duke of Wellington, has a certain adven- tion for a while is not to be avoided, as I

titious interest : — well know by what I have suffered in my

Sir, own case more than once.

I have the favour of yours, for which I However, as submission to the Will of God

am much obliged to you, and heartily wish is a necessary duty, and that by the course

it had been upon some better occasion, as of nature we must all part with this lite in

the melancholy subject of it is too affecting. the time Providence has allotted for us, it is

The loss of so great and good a man as the incumbent on us to bear our mistortunes

late Bishop of Cloyne must be sensibly felt with patience, which I hope and doubt not

by the public (to whom his learned labours but you and the good lady your mother

had been of such general use), as well as by will consider for your own sakes and the

his particular friends, of whom I had the rest.

honour and great pleasure of being one, with Pray be pleased to make my best comph-

no less esteem and value for him than the ments of condolence to Mrs Berkeley, and

most zealous of them. believe me to be, with great respect.

But instances of mortality are so common, Sir,

Your most obedient humble servant.

MORNINGTON.

" He died in 1758, and was succeeded by ^^^^^.^^^ ~ ,-.3.

his son, the second Lord Mornington, the n • 1

celebrated musician and composer. There is also, in the same collection, the

VOL. IV. A a

354 i-^f^ ^^^^ Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

My dear Lord,

I CANNOT defer acknowledging the honour of your Lordship's very kind
letter.

Dr. Johnson's book^" I have not seen, but shall be greatly obliged to
you for a copy of it, as I suppose it is not reprinted in England, and as
my dear father had a very high esteem for the author.

Notwithstanding the kind sympathy of your Lordship and the good
ladies, as well as of all our friends here, and the utmost endeavours of
my sister and myself to conceal our grief, I cannot say that I perceive
my poor mother's at all abated. What human aid can't do, I trust that
Divine will do.

My sister is extremely thankful for Miss Talbot's very useful and
friendly letter. She joyns with my mother and myself in most grateful
acknowledgments to your Lordship and the ladies, and I beg leave to
assure you that I am, with the greatest respect,

My dear Lord,
"^'our most dutiful and very obliged humble servant,

GEO. BERKELEY.
Oxford, Feb. i, 1753.

In Seeker's manuscript Memoirs of himself, preserved in the
library at Lambeth, I find the follovi^ing: — '1753, June 8. We
went to Cuddesden. My good friend Bishop Berkeley dying at
Oxford in January, his vi'idov^, and son, and daughter spent the
summer with me.' In March of the following year. Seeker writes

following letter from Synge, Bishop of El- I shall soon follow him. Oh that I could
phin, who died in January, 1762 : — in his life! Even sudden death would then
Sir, lose its terrors in prospect.
Your melancholy news flew hither. We 1 desire you would present my best re-
had it on Sunday. It affected me greatly. spec's to your good mother. If I can be in
But the first surprise being over, yours re- any way useful to her or you, I shall be
ceived yesterday gave me real and great always ready to receive her commands. But,
pleasure. It will always give me pleasure to in your present situation, your father's old
be considered as your good father's friend. friends have no room except for wishes.
I have been so these forty-three years with The best I can form for you is, that you
exquisite pleasure and great advantage to may inherit the perfections of your excellent
myself while we were together, but with father, and emulate his virtues. I am, with
much regret and uneasiness since the distance the greatest truth,
of our situations and his constant residence. Sir,

interrupted all intercourse, except now and Your very affectionate friend

then by letter. At last the final separation and humble servant,

is made — I hope it will have the effect on EDW ELPHIN

me which it ought to have. The death of Dublin Jan. 26 17 ■^.
so old, so loved, and so esteemed a friend

should admonish me of mine own. I am, 2" The Elementa Pbilosopbica.
indeed, some years younger. But probably

IX.] The Family Dissolution. 355

as follows from the Deanery of St. Paul's to Dr. Samuel Johnson in
America, to thank him for his book : — ' I am particularly obliged
to you for sending me your book, of which I made a very accept-
able present to the late excellent Bishop of Cloyne's son — a most
serious, sensible, and prudent young man, whom his father placed
at Christ Church, and who, with his mother and sister, spent the
last summer with me in Oxfordshire. I have now lately received
from Mr. Smith another copy of it, printed here 2^, and have read
several parts of it, and all with much pleasure. . You have taken
very- proper care to keep those who do not enter into all the philo-
sophy of the great and good man from being shocked at it^'^.'

Two years after this we find the family scattered ^'^ On the 25th
of May, 1756, George Berkeley writes thus from Christ Church to
Dr. Johnson : — 'My mother has been settled, with my brother and
sister, for a year and a half past, in Dublin, where I paid them a
visit about three months last summer, and intend, God willing, to
spend half a year with them as soon as I have kept next term. My
poor sister has been for above a year in a very bad state of health,
and subject to violent fits, which have reduced her much, and made
my mother's life very unpleasant — that is, as unpleasant as circum-
stances can render the life of a sincere Christian, which I bless
God she is^*.'

An outline of the family history after this, till its final dissolu-
tion, can be summed up in a few words.

=" This was the London edition of Johnson's Bishop of Cloyne, and by the present Bishop

Elementa Philosophica, edited by William of Cloyne, signed by the Bishops of Meath

Smith, which appeared in T754. and Elphin.' Their excellencies are desired

32 See Chandler's Life ofJohTison—Appen- to refer the petition ' and the annexed case '
dix. In one of Seeker's MS. Commonplace to the Commissioners of His Majesty's Re-
Books are some observations on Berkeley's venue in Ireland. I have not followed
manner of conceiving sensible things, and this further, but it rather indicates scanty
its superiority to the unextended monads finances.

into which Leibnitz resolves the material "* Johnson's MSS. I owe this extract to

world ; also a suggestion that Spinoza's Mr. Gilman The ' brother ' referred to

notion of God may have been partly mis- must have been Henry. The extract is

understood, and be capable of a better in- part of a large correspondence between

terpretation. George Berkeley and Johnson, which was

S3 From a letter (in the records at Dub- ended by Johnson's own sudden death in

lin Castle) dated, Whitehall, Sept. 6, 1754. January 1772. Some of this correspondence,

addressed by the Duke of Dorset to the Lords I understand, still remains,^ but I have failed

Justices of Ireland, it appears that a petition to find more of Johnson's correspondence

was about that time sent to the King by ' Mrs. with the Bishop than has been given in

Berkeley, widow and executrix of the late former chapters.

A a 2

356 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

The eldest son, Henry, who seems to have been in weak
health, but of whose later history I can find nothmg, died in
Ireland, in Queen's County ^^. The second son, George, took his
Master's degree at Oxford in January, 1759, ^"^^ ^^ ^^^ same year,
by Seeker's influence, he was presented to the celebrated vicarage
of Bray, in Berkshire.

The Bishop's widow, of whom one has so many good and
pleasant associations with the recluse life in Rhode Island and at
Cloyne, lived at Bray with her son for some years before and after
his marriage, which took place in March 1761. The eccentric
jealousy of the wife at last separated her from her son. She died
at Langley in Kent on the 37th of May, 1786, in her eighty-
sixth year 36. The daughter Julia, who lived with her mother,
probably survived her, but I have found no record of her death.
She was not married.

The Berkeleys at Bray had four children, two daughters who
died in infancy, a son, George Monck, and another son, George
Robert, who died in childhood, in 1775"'^. George Monck, the
eldest son, born in 1763, was educated at Eton, and afterwards in
Scotland, at the university of St. Andrew's, where he entered in
1782. From the Preface to the posthumous quarto volume which
contains some of his poetical fragments gleanings have already
been offered to the reader. His Literary Relics, as I formerly ex-
plained, supply the best edition of his illustrious grandfather's
correspondence with Thomas Prior. George Monck Berkeley died
in January 1793.

Archdeacon Rose, to whom future students of Berkeley owe so
much, has kindly contributed some additional particulars in the
following Brief Memoir of George Berkeley, the Bishop's second
and last surviving son.

' It will be remembered that Bishop Berkeley, not long before his
death, went to reside in Oxford. One of the inducements to this
change of residence was a desire to superintend the education of

^ Brady's Records, vol. III. p. 1 19. ■'■^ One of Monck Berkeley's Poems is an

S8 See Europ. Mag. vol. IX. p. 470. Some Elegy on the death of this brother (pp.
of her letters are among the Berkeley Papers. 165 — 78).

IX.] The Family Dissolution. 357

his son George, who was born in London in September 1733, '^"^
was trained by his father at Cloyne till he was ready for the Uni-
versity. He was admitted at Christ Church in 1752, where Bishop
Conybeare, who was then Dean of Christ Church, conferred a
Studentship upon him. The education of his children had been
with the Bishop so sacred a duty, that he devoted himself to it
with the utmost ardour, and having educated his son until he was
of age to enter the University, he was desirous of continuing
such superintendence over his studies, as the regulations of the
University would permit. It happens that among the Berkeley
Papers there is a long letter from the widow of the Bishop to
her son, in which she recounts the great pains bestowed by the
Bishop on this labour of love during the childhood and early
youth of his son. The following passages are quoted from this
address : —

' " I sit down with the greatest pleasure to talk a cceur ouverte with my
son upon every subject which shall present itself. The slight reflection
you made on your dear father and my dear husband carried me back
many years, and in all those years I saw infinite cause of gratitude from
you and me to God for all his favors, and for all his crosses, which are
disguised favors. How carefully was your infancy protected by your
dear Father's skill and Mother's care. You were not for our ease trusted
to mercenary hands : in childhood you were instructed by your father — he,
though old and sickly, performed the constant, tedious task himself, and
would not trust it to another's care. You were his business and his
pleasure. Short-sighted people see no danger from common vulgar errors
of education. He knew that fundamental errors were never cured, and
that the first seasoning of the cask gives the flavor, and therefore he
chose rather to prevent than cure. As much as possible he kept you
with himself or else alone. He never raised your vanity, or your love for
vanity, by prizing or mentioning the vanities of life (unless with the derision
they deserve) — which we have all renounced in baptism, before you — such
are Titles — Finery — Fashion— Money — Fame. His own temperance in
regard to wine was a better lesson to you than forbidding it would have
been. He made home pleasant by a variety of employments, conversa-
tion, and company ; his instructive conversation was delicate, and when
he spoke directly of religion (which was seldom) he did it in so masterly
a manner, that it made a deep and lasting impression. You never
heard him give his tongue the liberty of speaking evil. Never did he

358 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [en.

reveal the fault or secret of a friend. Most people are tempted to
detraction by envy, barrenness of conversation, spite and ill will. But as
he saw no one his superior, or perhaps his equal, how could he envy any
one? Eesides, an universal knowledge of 7ne7i, Ihwgs, and books, pre-
vented the greatest wit of his age from being at a loss for subjects of
conversation ; but had he been as dull as he was bright, his conscience
and good nature would have kept close the door of his lips, rather than
to have opened them to vilify or lessen his brother. He was also pure
in heart and speech ; no wit could season any kind of dirt to him, not
even Swift's. Now he was not born to all this, no more than others are,
but in his own words his industry was greater ; he struck a light at twelve
to rise and study and pray, for he was very pious ; and his studies were
no barren speculations, for he loved God and man, silenced and confuted
Atheists, disguised as mathematicians and fine gentlemen. . . . His
scheme for our Colonies and the World in general is not forgot before
His eyes for whom it was undertaken. No man of the age was capable
of projecting and bringing into execution such a design but himself —
that it failed was not his fault. . . . Humility, tenderness, patience,
generosity, charity to men's souls and bodies, was the sole end of all his
projects, and the business of his life. In particular I never saw so tender
and so amiable a father, or so patient and industrious a one ! Why were

not you and Willy rotten before you were ripe, like Lord 's sons }

Because you had so wise, so good a father. It is true he took no care

to purchase land for you; but where are Lord 's sons now, and

what enjoyment have they of their great estates .-^ . . . Exactness and
care (in which consists economy) was the treasury upon which he drew
for charity, generosity, munificence ; and exactness and care, regularity
and order, prevented his ever having the temptation to be covetous, and
surely it should be guarded against with strict care since ' covetousness
is idolatry.' Most people think with the wise, but act with the vulgar.
Your father slighted the Que dira-t-on? &c.,&c."

'Such was the education which George Berkeley received at
Cloyne — and if this be a faithful picture of his father's care of
his childhood and youth, we cannot wonder that when he was
launched into the greater world of Oxford, that tender father was
anxious to watch over his son during his University career.

'After Mr. Berkeley had taken his degree of Master of Arts
on the 26th of January, i 759, he was presented to the Vicarage
of East Garston, which is in the gift of the Society— and soon

IX.] The Fa7)iily Dissolution. 359

afterwards to the \'icarage of Bray. Mr. Berkeley, as a young
man, formed an attachment to Miss Talbot, afterwards so well-
known as the authoress of the admirable reflections on the Seven
Days of the Week, often published by the Society for Promoting
Christian Knowledge. Although this attachment appears to have
been reciprocal, some obstacles intervening, the engagement, if
there was any positive engagement, was given up by mutual
consent. Mr. Berkeley afterwards, in the year 1761, married
Miss Eliza Frinsham^''*^, daughter of the Rev. Henry Frinsham.
Rector of W'hite-Waltham, in Berkshire. From the period of
this marriage, it ought to be mentioned that Miss Talbot never
ceased to show the utmost kindness and friendship to Mrs. George
Berkeley, who speaks of her as the kindest of all her fiiends''"^.
Miss Frinsham appears to have been possessed of great personal
charms and considerable abilities, but she was evidently very
excitable. Eventually her eccentricity exceeded all bounds, and
her writings exhibit traces of partial derangement. This cir-
cumstance contributed very much to cloud the happiness of her
home. A large mass of letteis rebate to the unhappy dil^erences
which arose from this cause ; but as it can be or no possible
interest to the world at large, this notice of the matter will
suffice. It seems needful thus slightly to mention it, because
it will serve to explain the strange statements which we occa-
sionally meet with in her publications. She published in 1799
a volume of posthumous sermons, preached by her husband, v.-ith
a most extraordinary preface ; and also, two years earlier, some
poems of her son, to which she prefixed a Preface of nearly 700
quarto pages I No one who reads it can doubt the partial dc-
langcment of mind of the writer^''.

^ This ladv was descended from Francis qmted their kindness by adopting the widow

Cherry. Esq.. ot" Shotte>brooke. in Kent. In and d.-iughter of the Bishops son. as nieni-

1729 his d.iughter sent a picture of him. and bers of his own family. They lived with

a valuable collection of MS? to the Univer- him to the time of his death. Mrs. G.

sitv of Oxford, which benefactions are ac- Berkeley, in the Preface to her son's Poems,

kn'owledged in a letter from Sam. Parker on speaks of her ' angelic friend." Miss Catherine

behalf of the Vice-Chancellor, now in the Talbot. Miss Talbot died in 1770. There

Berkeley CoUection, as well as the Vice- is a charming letter from Miss Ta'bot to

Chancel'lcr-s letter. a new-U^m child, a daughter ot Mr. John

=^ Miss Catherine Talbot was the erand- Talbot (.son of Lord-Chancellor TalboO. in

daughter oi Dr. Talbot, Bishop of Durham. the Selections from ibt Gemlemans Maga-

who died in 17^0. Seeker had been his zine. vol. III. p. ^5-

chaplain, and w'as much indebted to the "" This volume is ver>- rare. It is. a» far

Talbot family for his preferment. He re- as I can ascertain, not to be »ound either in

360 Life and Letters of Bei^keley. [ch.

' It is well known that Miss Talbot and her mother were inmates
of Lambeth Palace, during the Primacy of Archbishop Seeker, who
was much attached to Bishop Berkeley, and remained always a
very kind friend to his son, who held successively several benefices,
besides a Prebendal Stall in Canterbury. He was Vicar of Bray,
which he exchanged for Cookham, and Rector of St. Clement
Danes, East Acton in Middlesex, and of Ticehurst in Sussex.
He was also Chancellor of Brecknock, but in the later years of
his life he appears to have been very far from rich. In February
1768, he took the degree of LL.D.

'Dr. Berkeley was evidently much beloved by a large circle of
friends, many of whom were persons of considerable distinction.
Dr. Home, the President of Magdalen, and Dean of Canterbury,
who in 1790 became Bishop of Norwich, was through life one
of his most attached friends, as the numerous letters from that
truly Christian Prelate, found among the Berkeley Papers, abun-
dantly testify. Dr. Samuel Johnson in America, Dr. Glasse, Dr.
Whitaker, Bishop Gleig, and others also among his friends, were
well known as men of high attainments. Dr. Berkeley having
passed some time at St. Andrew's and elsewhere in Scotland, took
a deep interest in the Scottish Episcopal Church, and was in
some degree instrumental in obtaining the removal of the restric-
tions under which it laboured at that time. He had a long
correspondence with Bishop Gleig on the subject, a large portion
of which is still in the Berkeley Collection. Bishop Home also
was much interested in the movement for the removal of the
cruel restrictions, which were continued so long after the ne-
cessity for them, if it ever existed, had altogether ceased. It
appears also that it was very much through the influence of
Dr. Berkeley that the Scottish Bishops were induced to conse-
crate Dr. Seabury. The importance of that event to the Churches
of England and America it would be difficult adequately to ex-
press. Dr. Berkeley was evidently a man of considerable powers
of mind, and of so amiable a disposition that he appears to have
been universally popular.

'There is little to narrate connected with his life. The
Memoir of his son, George Monck Berkeley, by the mother

the Bodleian or the Cambridge University belonging to the Chapter Library at Can-
Library. I am indebted to the kindness of terbury.
Canon Robertson for the use of a copy,

IX.] The Family Dissolution. 361

of the young man, contains many anecdotes about the father,
showing his excellent qualities and his religious character. But
there is little to record. Had he become illustrious by his
published works, like Bishop Berkeley, the smallest fragment of
his writings would have been worth publishing, because it would
serve to illustrate the habits of thought which contributed to
that eminence. But his letters, though invested with a certain
value from their liveliness and their good sense, do not contain
sufficient matter of public interest to justify their publication.
There are, however, some letters from Bishop Home addressed
to him which deserve to be rescued from oblivion. It may
be mentioned that a sermon by Dr. Berkeley, preached on Jan.
30, 1785, on The danger of Violent Innovations in the State^ how
specious soever the pretence^ exemplijied from the reigns of the tico
first Stuarts J went through six editions. The intimacy of Dr. Ber-
keley with the Archbishop of Canterbury, and with the ladies who
resided with his Grace at Lambeth, enabled him to put forward
the claims of some deserving clergymen for preferment. Among
these was the celebrated William Jones, of Nayland, who obtained
Pluckley through his interest. A letter to Dr. Berkeley from
Dr. Jemmett Brown, Bishop of Cork and Ross, in March 1768,
begins pleasantly enough — "Dear Doctor, I wish, sincerely, I could
substitute Lord for your new title," &c.

'Dr. George Berkeley died on the 6th of January, 1795, two
years after his son Monck, leaving his widow apparently in
straitened circumstances.'

This son, George, was the last of that branch of the Berkeley
family in which the philanthropist and the philosophical world
are most interested, and which we have now followed from
its beginnings on the bank of the Nore till it disappears from
this 'shadowy scene.' The philosophy of Berkeley survives the
family dissolution, as its permanent heritage to the world. To
that philosophy I must now ask the reader to return, in order to
contemplate as a whole, and in some lights in which it has not,
I think, been sufficiently considered, what in the foregoing chap-
ters has appeared only at intervals and in fragments.

CHAPTER X.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF BERKELEY.

Berkeley's Neiu ^Ij/esfionj and the Essence of his Ansiver to it.

There is a discernible unity in the life of Berkeley. It may be
traced in the chapters of his personal history, in his hitherto un-
published thoughts, and in the three volumes which contain those
of his purely philosophical, mixed, and miscellaneous writings
which appeared when he was alive. The function of the material
world in the universe of existence — the true meaning of unper-
ceiving substance, identity, space, and force or power — employed
his intellect and imagination from the beginning to the end. In-
genious occupation with this problem is what gives character and
strength to that beautiful and singular life. The immediate re-
sult was, his own steadily sustained conception of what the reality
of sensible things means; and his persistent, but strictly conse-
quent, endeavour to confine the material world to the subordinate
function in relation to Spirit or Mind which is implied in that
conception. The remoter result has been that he inaugurated a
new and second era in the intellectual revolution which Des Cartes
set agoing. This Second Period in Modern Philosophy has been
marked by the sceptical phenomenalism of Hume (now represented
by Positivism) ; the Scotch psychology of Common Sense j and the
German critical and dialectical philosophy of Reason.

Berkeley's belief about the sensible world was not a mere in-
tellectual whim : we see this when we follow the story of his life.
It was the issue of deep human interest and sympathy. Men had

Philosophy of Berkeley. 363

suffered, and were suffering, he believed, from wrong ways of
conceiving the manner in which the material world exists, and
the powers which may reasonably be attributed by physical science
to sensible things. He suspected that their manner of thinking
about Matter was making them sceptical about everything; or, at
any rate, that it was leaving them satisfied with the supposed
powers of the world of sense, as a sufficient explanation of them-
selves and of all that is. Materialists were making unperceived
Matter supreme; yet philosophers found it difficult to deduce its
existence from what alone they allowed us to be able to perceive.
Now, by substituting in people's thoughts — in room of an inde-
finitely powerful Matter — the subordinate kind of material world,
which he found given in sense and sanctioned by reason, the
difficulty of proviiig its real existence would, he thought, be at
once removed : spiritual life, above all^ would have room to grow
in, when Matter ceased to be regarded as the deepest thing in
existence : and the physical sciences, too, might have freedom to
enlarge themselves, without hindrance by restored faith, when it
was demonstrated that no possible progress in the interpretation
of sensible signs, could interfere with religion, whose roots are in
the heart and conscience of man.

Matter was apt to make philosophers sceptical about reality of
every sort, because they had assumed it to be something the
existence of which it was impossible to prove, and the nature of
which it was impossible even to conceive. Yet without the
acknowledged existence of a sensible world nothing external to the
individual mind could be assured. Berkeley, accordingly, found
Des Cartes, Malebranche, Locke, and other philosophers of the
century in which he was born, trying, but with indifferent success,
to verify the existence of Matter. And then he found even Locke
suggesting that this same unperceived Matter may be the cause of
consciousness. Hobbes, indeed, dogmatically asserted more than
this, assuming, in his explanation of intelligent man, that the body
accounted for the mind, and that Matter was the deepest thing in
the universe. Spinoza too unfolded the divine system according
to a geometrical, which seemed to be a materialistic, imagination
of it ; and although the hypothesis which resolves the material
world into unextended monads might place Leibnitz in a different
category, it was an assumption almost as open to objection as that

364 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [€H.

of the materialists, that a plurality of inconceivable forces is the
constitutive essence of extended things. Again, a mathematical
or spacial conception of what is real — in a word, atomism — was
involving men, in that age of Newtonian discoveries, in the per-
plexities of infinitesimals and the infinite, which all result from
the supposition of an absolute quantity that is infinitely divisible.
Metaphysicians were, by this means, able to raise a dust, and then
complain that they could not see. And the unreflecting multitude
were then as always apt to look for, and be satisfied with, ex-
planations of things — including animal and even conscious life —
that made Matter their sufficient cause.

The material world was in short, in many ways, disturbing the
balance or equilibrium of true belief, in the beginning of the
eighteenth century; and it had always been doing so, more or
less. A powerful hand was required to put it back into its proper
place, and to confine it to its assigned function. This, his appro-
priated office, was employment enough for Berkeley's hand, which
was subtle — whatever may be said about its strength.

Berkeley may be pictured as one trying in vain all his life to
get a hearing for a New Question about space and the material
world. His philosophical contemporaries, and their predecessors,
had been busy offering evidence that unperceivable Matter really
exists — in answer to supposed demands for such evidence ; or in
referring to this Universal Substance for the explanation of the
perplexing phenomena of conscious life. He entreated them to
address themselves to another task altogether; and also to sus-
pend the assumption that the unperceiving world could explain
everything, till they had made sure that it could really explain
anything. Instead of offering doubtful evidence of the former,
and also dogmatically taking the dynamical efficiency of Matter
for granted, let us first ask, Berkeley in effect says, what the
words existence^ reality^ externality^ and cause mean, when they
are affirmed of sensible objects 1. Perhaps we shall then find that

^ Cf. Principles of Hitman Knowledge, latiou as to what the concrete world, revealed

sect. 89 ; also passages in the Commonplace in the phenomena presented to the senses,

Book. This is metaphysics, or the specu- necessarily is. It is an attempt to translate

lation of Being. Berkeley's Principles is his the abstract Being of the old ontologists into

juvenile metaphysics — in the form of a specu- concrete fact, and then to describe the fact.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 365

the only reality these can have is a reality that does not need
proof; and that their only possible externality is not an incon-
ceivable— even contradictory — externality, but one easy to be
conceived and believed in. Instead of trying to show that Matter
is the cause of this or of that, he invites us to inquire what
physical causality means, and in what respect, or to what extent,
anything unconscious and involuntary can be the cause of any-
thing at all. Perhaps if we do so we shall find that the actual
material world cannot contain any power or causality; that the
so-called relations of causation, discovered in physical science to
belong to sensible things, are examples of another sort of relation
altogether, and not of efficient or proper causation.

Berkeley's life-long labour as a philosopher was, in short, an
endeavour to get the previous question put in place of the pre-
valent question, and the prevalent assumption about Matter. He
wanted to induce men to settle what the substantial existence of
the sensible world could in reason amount to — not to prove its
substantiality, which (in a conventional meaning of 'substance')
no sane person could doubt. He wanted to settle the meaning of
physical power — not to prove the causality of visible and tangible
things, which too (in a conventional meaning of ' cause ') could
as little be doubted.

His historical position in philosophy is, I think, not intelligible
to those who overlook the fact that his speculative life (whether he
was fully aware of this himself or not) was an endeavour thus to
change the question about the unconscious world with which modern
philosophy had busied itself. The result of the change would be,
to make metaphysics not the demonstrator of the existence of
the real things of sense — which do not need to be demonstrated ; nor
the expositor of their so-called effects — which the physical sciences
undertake to interpret ; but to make it the analyst of the meaning
of reality, and the meaning of causality, when reality is affirmed of
sensible things by everybody, and causality especially by men of
science. Find what physical causality and physical substantiality
can reasonably mean ; answer first this new question : — this is his
constant prayer. His promise is that, when we shall have done
this, we shall find that there is no need to press the old demand
for evidence of the existence of such a substance as physical sub-
stance can be proved to be ; and that there is no room for the old

366 Life and Letters of Berkeley, [cii.

assumptions about the powers of bodies when physical science is
confined by iron reasoning to the merely physical sort of causality.
Such existence, reality, substantiality, and causality as the actual
world of the senses can be shown to be capable of having, that^ he
assumes, beyond all possibility of scepticism, the unperceiving
world has : but that, no doubt, turns out to be a modest, restricted,
dependent, sort of reality; and as for the causality, it turns out
to be, not efficient, but a divinely effected constancy of sensible
order, or a divinely effected growth of vital organism.

Berkeley, in short, moved modern thought by changing Its
question, and manner of thinking, about Matter — by withdrawing
philosophy from the attempt to show that Matter exists, although-
it is unperceived by us in the senses, and from the dogmatic as-
sumption that Matter operates, to a metaphysical analysis of what
unperceiving or unconscious reality and causality can amount to
or involve '.

The nev/ question and method of thought of Berkeley was
pushed further in the new direction by Hume, who sought, as
it were, to paralyse and humiliate the entire Divine Universe
{to -nav)^ on principles partly similar to those applied by Berkeley
to paralyse and humiliate the solid and extended universe. Hume,
as it happened, was moved to speculate by Berkeley, traces of
whom appear all through his metaphysical writings. But in
Berkeley's method Hume read scepticism : he says that most of
Berkeley's writings ^ form the best lessons of scepticism which
are to be found either among the ancient or modern philosophers,
Bayle not excepted,' because ' they admit of no answer and pro-
duce no conviction •'*.'

''■ Berkeley's philosophy, in its most com- or Law according to which it evolves ; the

prehensive aspect — increasingly in its later efficient Act itself ; and the End contemplated

developments in Alciphron and Siris — is a in the act. The three last are involved in

philosophy of the causation that is in the Berkeley's causation proper. His 'cause'

universe, rather than a philosophy of the unites the three last, and dispenses with the

mere material world. It is the reasoned ex- first, resolving it into sensible pheno-

pression of an assumed intuition of the effi- • mena. As to the first — Matter, or Material

ciency of Mind — of which the very essence Cause — cf. Siris, sect. 31 1 — 18, with my

is conscious acting — as the only real cause notes, and the references to Aristotle's v\r},

of what appears in dead and living Nature. and Plato's to atrdpov, and to enpov, in

It must be remembered the word ' cause ' which Berkeley's doctrine about Matter is

is ambiguous. Aristotle's four causes agree compared with these dark negations,
in being four sorts of conditions of change, ' Hume's E'.s.fajy.s vol. II Note N. Hume's

viz. a previously unformed Matter ; a Form reversal of Berkelev's intended function is

X.]

PhilosopJiy of Berkeley

The antithesis of Hume and Berkeley is the turning-point of
modern thought. They are at opposite poles regarding the

curious. The Scotch psychologists of last
century who followed him — admirable in
so many other respects, never got fairly
in sight of Berkeley's New Question. Ac-
cordingly, they can hardly be said to
accept or to reject his answer. Their op-
position is based on an ignora'io elenchi.
Take the following unintentional caricature
of Berkeley's results by Beattie, one of the
most eminent of them : — ' A great philo-
sopher has actually demonstrated, we are
told — that Matter does not exist. Truly
this is a piece of strange information. At
this rate any falsehood may be proved to be
true, and any truth to be false. For it is
impossible that any truth should be more
evident to me than this — that Matter does
exist. . . . Till the frame of my nature be
unhinged, and a new set of faculties given
to me, I cannot believe this strange doctrine,
because it is perfectly incredible. But if I
were permitted to propose one clownish
question, I would fain ask — Where is the
harm of my continuing in my old opinion,
and believing, with the rest of the world,
that 1 am not the only created being in the
universe, but that there are many others,
whose existence is as independent on me as
mine is on them ? Where is the harm of
my believing that if I were to fall down
yonder precipice and break my neck, I
should be no more a man of this world ?
My neck, sir, may be an idea to you, but
to me it is a reality, and an important one
too. Where is the harm of my believing
that if, in this severe weather, I were to
neglect to throw (what you call) the idea of
a coat over the ideas of my shoulders, the
idea of cold would produce the idea of such
pain and disorder as might possibly terminate
in real death ? What great offence shall I
commit against God or man, church or
state, philosophy or common sense, if I con-
tinue to believe that material food will
nouiish me, though the idea of it vvdl not ;
that the real sun will warm and enlighten
me, though the liveliest idea of him will do
neither ; and that if I would obtain true
peace of mind and self-approbation, I must
form not only ideas of compassion, justice,
and generosity, but also really exert these
virtues in external performance? What
harm is there 'n all this ? . . . I never heard
of any doctrine more scandalously absurd
than this of the non-existence of Matter.
There is not a fiction in the Persian Tales
that I would nit as easilv believe ; the

silliest conceit of the most contemptible
superstition that ever disgraced human nature
is not more shocking to common sense. . . .
If a man professing this doctrine act like
other men in the common affairs of life, I
will not beUeve his profession to be sincere.

' But if a man be convinced that Matter
has no existence, and believe this strange
tenet as steadily as I believe the contrary,
he will have, I am afraid, but little reason to
applaud himself in this new acquisition in
science. If he fall down a precipice, or be
trampled under foot by horses, it will avail
him little that he once had the honour to be
a disciple of Berkeley, and to believe that
those d*igerous objects are nothing but ideas
in his mind . . . What if all men were in one
instant deprived of their understanding by
Almighty Power, and made to believe that
Matter has no existence but as an idea in
the mind ? Doubtless this catastrophe would,
according to our metaphysicians, throw a
wonderful light on all the parts of know-
ledge. But of this I am certain, that in
less than a month after there could not,
without another miracle, be one human
creature alive on the face of the earth. . . .
This candle it seems hath not one of those
qualities it appears to have : it is not white,
nor luminous, nor round, nor divisible, nor
extended ; for to an idea of the mind not
one of these qualities can possibly belong.
How then shall I know what it really is ?
From what it seems to be, I can conclude
nothing ; no more than a blind man, by
handling a bit of black wax, can judge of
the colour of snow, or the visible appearance
of the starry heavens. The candle may be
an Egyptian pyramid, or the king of Prussia,
a mad dog, or nothing at all, for anything I
know, or can ever know to the contrary —
except you allow me to judge of its nature
from its appearance ; which, however, I
cannot reasonably do, if its appearance and
nature are in every respect so different and
unlike as not to have one single quality in
common. I must therefore believe it to be,
what it appears to be, a real, corporeal,
external object — and so reject Berkeley's
system. . . . This system leads to Atheism

and universal scepticism Suppose it

universally and seriously adopted ; suppose
all men divested of all belief and conse-
quently of all principle: would not the disso-
lution of society, and the destruction of

mankind, ensue? It is a doctrine

according to which a man could not act nor

68 Life and Letters of Bei'keley. [cii.

efficient causality in the universe, which to both is the central
thought — with Berkeley the Great Concrete Reality, with Hume
the greatest human illusion. Now, is Berkeley's principle for the
paralysis of the sensible world applicable also to all existence ?
Hume raises this question. Hume and Positivism dissubstantiate
spirits, and deny free activity to mind, as well as to solid and
extended things, and so paralyse the higher life altogether — as far
as it depends upon philosophy. Is there a rational obstacle to this
result ; and tf so, what is it? That is the one question for the mo-
dern spiritual thinker to answer. Berkeley hardly looks at his
own problem in this extensive light.

Hume's universal paralysis afterwards induced a reconsideration
and critical analysis of reality and causality — universally or abso-
lutely, not merely, as with Berkeley, in their sensible or physical
relations. It is exactly this reconsideration and analysis which
is due to Kant and his successors in Germany. Kant indeed
disowns Berkeley as a subjective Idealist, who reduced space and
the contents of space to the workings of imagination *. But it
must not be forgotten that it was Berkeley who virtually made
modern philosophy critically analytic of the necessities and uni-
versal of Being, rather than alternately sceptical or dogmatic,
as it had been, about the reality and causality of unperceivable
Matter. For, the Germans, roused by the greater thoroughness
and comprehensiveness of the question which Hume entertained — ■
partly at the suggestion of Berkeley; and also by Hume's own

reason in the common affairs of life without to Berkeley. There is as much subtlety of

incurring the charge of insanity and folly, thought, and more humour, in the Irish

and involving himself in distress and per- story of Berkeley's visit to Swift on a

dition. . . . From beginning to end it is all rainy day, when, by the Dean's orders, he

a mystery of falsehood, arising from the use was left to stand before the unopened door,

of ambiguous words, and from the gratuitous because, if his philosophy was true, he could

admission of principles which could never as easily enter with the door shut as

have been admitted, if they had been open.

thoroughly understood.' {Essay on Truth, * Kritili d.r. Vernimft — ' Widerlegung
vol. I. pp. 242 — 260.) This is of a piece des Idealismus' — Berkeley refers to the
with other professed representations and re- presumed constant activity of the supreme
futations of the new conception of what efficient Cause or Mind for the explanation
sensible reality is, metaphysically considered, of the permanence of sensible things, and of
which were in vogue in last century. When their validity for all sentient intelligence,
the English Samuel Johnson wanted to refute He does not require for this a presupposi-
Berkeley, his refutation consisted in striking tion of space. With Kant, and perhaps
his foot with characteristic force against Hegel, space is an absolute intuition, and
a stone. With the witty Voltaire ten thou- experience necessarily presupposes its real
sand cannon balls, and ten thousand dead existence, in three dimensions, as the con-
men, were ten thousand ideas, according dition of externality — or other-than self.

X.] • Philosophy of Berkeley, 369

disintegration of all absolute and universal knowledge into habits
blindly induced in subjective association — by the unintelligible
customs of the universe, have sought, in fresh analysis, to find
Intelligibility instead of blind Custom at the bottom of things.
Now Berkeley's change of front was the beginning of all this. It
put him logically, as he almost is chronologically, in the centre
of modern speculation. This change of front cannot be too much
pondered. There is evidence that he himself was not wholly un-
conscious of it, and of its great significance.

Berkeley's philosophy, I repeat, was for him, and indeed is for
science still, no mere speculative crotchet. There is an earnest
human interest that animates his constant struggle to analyse Per-
manence, Power, and Extension in the unperceiving world. He
doss not want to show that Matter is unsubstantial, and that it
cannot be the cause of anything — far from this. No sane person
can doubt its reality, or its being in some sense a cause. To
discuss that would be to discuss a frivolous question. But if
people ask — In what meaning of the word existence the sensible
world may be said to exist j and in what meaning of the word
cause it may be said to be a cause ? that question — in his view
above all other questions — deserves serious discussion : the true
answer to it makes Scepticism and Materialism appear in a new
light. For, the Berkeleian philosophy is, in its conception if not
in its execution, a reasoned exposition of the dependent and rela-
tive character of the reality and causality of the material world.

An outline of Berkeley's process for thus keeping the material
world in its reasonable place, in the thoughts and beliefs of men,
may be sufficiently condensed to be taken in almost by a single
intellectual grasp. To be practically understood, however, it must
be applied habitually, but one may unfold it, and also some of
what it involves, in some such way as this : —

Take experience as it is given to us in our senses. It is com-
posed of sensations^ ideas^ or phenomena^ as Berkeley indillcrcntly
calls them — 'facts of which there is a perception or consciousness,'
in the language of our own time ^. We may even, with Berkeley,
call these sense-given phenomena ' sensations.'

5 The little word idea (and it may be sation and phenomenon— {ox Berkeley may
added the so far synonymous terms, sen- be called a Sensalioiialist, or a rhenoinciia-

VOL. IV. B b

370

Life and Letters of Berkeley.

[CH.

Now reflect upon the so-called sensations. They are very
various : they are of different colours, shapes, and sizes : they are
hard or soft : their varieties of taste, smell, and sound are indefi-
nitely numerous. But nothing sensible that is out of sensation
can be perceived or imagined. An abstract sensation — that is, an
abstract phenomenon, or (in Berkeley's language) an abstract idea
— is a contradiction in terms. Withdraw all that is concrete, and
you have— not a physical reality, but — Nothing; not the thought
of Nothing even, which is something, but the absolute paralysis of
all thought. And all experience of sensible things is a constant
illustration of the essentially sensation material of which they are
made up. Reason and experience alike forbid us to go deeper
than large or small, hard or soft, green or red, or otherwise coloured
and extended, sensations, in our experimental search into what
physical reality means — when we affirm it of the material world.
Abstract, unperceivable Matter is a mere hypothesis, and an un-
thinkable hypothesis too. The inconceivable supposition of a
sensible thing existing out of sensation, or in unperceived abstrac-
tion, would be a petit to principii^ if it were conceivable. This is

list, as well as an I'ealist) has been a for-
midable obstruction to the intelligibility of
this philosopher. With him it means both
percept and image — not pure tiotion of
the understanding. And it is with ideas as
actual sensation-perceptions that we have to
do exclusively, when we are told by him
that the sensible world is composed of
idea.^. S'mply to recollect what he means
by idea is almost to realize his concep-
tion of the universe. When ordinary people
are told that idea is the stuff or matter of
which, according to Berkeley, the real
things of the ser.sible world are composed,
they are apt to take this for an assertion
that what we call seeing and touching is
only fancying; ; and that what is seen and
touched is to be regarded as a mere sub-
jective or private dream of the person's own
mind who has the ideas — that it can have
no extension or solidity or permanence.
Now, Berkeley's ideas include hard and ex-
tended facts, and are not mere fanciea of
which we are conscious. He calls them
ideas because he sees it to be self-evident that
facts cannot exist positively without a mind
to be percipient of them. Nor are we,
on the other hand, to think of Berkeley's
ideas, or phenomena perceived in sense, as
independent entitie= which circulate among

finite spirits : their actual or intelligible
existence consists in being the matter of
the experience of a conscious mind — a sui
gefieris sort of dependent existence. But no
doubt his language is vacillating.

* The peUtio principii is put the other
way by the learned Ueberweg, in his notes
(e.g. 8, lo, 28, and 90) to his excellent
German translation of Berkeley's Principles,
where he complains that Berkeley has as-
sumed what he was bound to prove, when
he assumes that a thing is only an aggregate
of sensations ; and where he also complains
that Berkeley reverses the common-sense
meaning of words, which, literally taken,
imply that he is a Subjective Idealist, or
rather an Egoist. But if sense-symbolism,
truly understood, affords the only basis of
objectivi'.y which is consistent with the es-
sential transitoriness of the sensible world, is
not the affirmation of an abstract unity
rather than its negation what requires
proof? Berkeley professes to keep to ex-
perience, and to analyse what is involved
in that. Again, as the common-sense mean-
ings of ordinary words are not the result
of critical reflection, niust not their meaning
inevitably be modified when the reflective
philosopher breathes fresh life into them ?

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 371

Berkeley's argument in his early works, but it does not reappear
in Sir'ts — which is remarkable.

The stuff or material of which sensible things are composed is
thus — sensation or sense-given phenomenon. Now, what does
this Berkeleian sensation involve ? Berkeley is hardly articulate
enough here, and the reader is apt to suppose that he intends
to say that externality means only sensation, when his reason-
ing abolishes, as it does, the dangerous distinction between the
sensible existence of the material world, and its abstract
existence.

A mere sensation, I think he would grant, is, for several reasons,
as impossible as abstract Matter.

Sensations, in the first place, imply a percipient, distinguishable
from the sensations. There must be a percipient, for there is no
evidence that an unperceived sensation or sense-phenomenon ex-
ists j and besides its existence is unintelligible. But, 1 who per-
ceive am not my own sensations. I am conscious that I am a
permanent, active being, different from, and independent of, the
changing tastes, smells, colours, sounds, and coloured or resistant
extents, which form my transitory sense-given phenomena. The
unique term 'V is as defensible and significant as any of the
words that express sensations. This consciousness of my own
permanence, amid the changes in my senses, is the only archetype,
in my experience, of proper substance or permanence j and, apart
from this experience, permanence or substance is an unintelligible
word. Now, there is no conscious or other evidence of any cor-
responding permanence among sensations. Their so-called sub-
stance must therefore mean what is essentially different from this
proper substance.

The cause of one's sensations, in the second place, must be
a personal efficiency that is different from the personal efficiency
of which one is conscious when he does anything for which
he is convinced that he is responsible. All that is within the
range of my responsible activity is mine. Sensations, or sense-
given phenomena, as given, are not within that range. Therefore,
for this reason too, they are not attributable to the percipient, but
distinguishable from the percipient, and the percipient from them.
On the one hand, they are not caused by the percipient : on the

B b 2

372 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

other hand, they have no proper efficiency in themselves. We
do not and cannot conceive a sensation to be responsible for any
of its own changes, or for any of the changes in other sensations
with which it is invariably connected. Their relation as separate
sensations to changes among themselves must be of a different
sort from the causality which, because it intelligently creates or
originates its own effects, involves responsibility, or a causal
reference to self.

Both these conditions of the existence of sensations Berkeley
enforces as, to all intents, what we now call necessary truths —
held by him, however, more as concrete facts than as abstract
principles '.

But is this all? Shall I say that the material world means
only a chaos of passive, but actual, sensations, perceived at
once to be mine — because they need me to be sentient of them
— and yet not mine — because not caused by my will or proper
personality? Shall I say that material substances and causes
resolve into this, and can mean no more than this ?

Only confusion of thought could reconcile this inadequate con-
ception of the sensible world with common sense and experience,
or indeed with the necessities of thought. A tree, or a river, or
a planet, means more than one actually perceived sensation, and
more even than a casual collection of actually perceived sensations.
The familiar phenomena of seemingly unperceived and insentient
growth or change in the sensible world, in historic or prehistoric
ages, contradict the supposition of this planet, for instance, or
anything it contains, being dependent on the accidents of finite
percipiency.

Berkeley was not blind to this, though I am not sure that he dis-
cerned all that it implies. Let us consider what we mean when
we say that a sensible thing involves more than the actual exist-
ence of what Berkeley calls sensations.

A mere sensation or phenomenon is an absurdity, and cannot

■^ For the former, see the Principles pas- sation is contrasted with volition. Existence
sim, regarding the correlativity of sensations, in a dependent relation to the intelligence of
or sense-given phenomena, and percipient a personal consciousness, seems quite consis-
mind ; also the third of the Dialogues (ed. tent with the voluntary or proper personality
1734). where he maintains that ' I know or of that conscious person— a personality
am conscious of my own being, and that I which objectifies what is known to be ex-
am not my ideas, but somewhat else.' For ternal to its own proper or voluntary
the latter, see the many passages in which sen- action.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 373

explain anything. For, sensations imply perception, or a know-
ledge of them as at once mine and not mine : they arc dependent
on me, for they cannot exist, as I now have them, without me to
be sentient of them ; they are independent of me, for I am per-
manent while they are transitory, and their changes are inde-
pendent of my will. The intuitive apprehension of all this is
immediate and original perception — in which we have the germ
or embryo of what is meant by sensible things being real. In this
perception, the permanent ' I ' is in antithesis with the transient
sensations j and the free responsible *I' is in antithesis with the
external cause that is responsible for them.

All this, however, does not exhaust the meaning of reality and
causality, when these predicates are applied to sensible things.
The material world is not a merely irregular coexistence or succes-
sion of perceived sensations. Actual sensations^ •with their involved
perceptions.^ are intermittent. They are not nearly coextensive with
what is meant by a * sensible thing.' The tree that is seen at a
distance exists in the actual sense-perceptions of the person who
is looking at it only in a very small degree; for it is then un-
touched, and the other phenomena or qualities which constitute
our notion of it are not then consciously experienced in actual
sensation. Even when it is touched, it is only touched in part.
Now, its unperceived qualities are not non-existent, when there is
no actual sense-perception of them. If they are, the greater part
of what I mean by the tree must be not real, even at the moment
when I am looking at the tree. All visible things must, on this
absurd supposition, go out of existence when they are left in the
dark; and all tangible ones when no percipient being is in actual
contact with them^ The material world could not have existed
millions of ages before men and other sentient beings, if this is
all that its existence can mean. When we say that the material
world is real, we conceivably may, and certainly do, rncan much
more than that it is a chaos of actually perceived sensations, which
are at once dependent on, and independent of, the mind that is
percipient of them.

This introduces us to a modification of the new conception of

» Esse being percipi, even with Berkeley, includes more than this ' absurd supposition."

374 Zz/^ and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

sensible things, that one only partly recognises in Berkeley's own
thought. Yet it is of the last importance. I shall try to explain it,
and glance at what seems his defect, at his own point of view.

Actual sensations may conceivably be, and are, signs of sensa-
tions that are past, and thus not now actual • and also signs of
future sensations that are expected, but not yet actual. Further,
there is nothing inconceivable, because nothing of what Berkeley
calls ' abstract,' in the supposition of present concrete sensations
being signs of other conscious and active minds, as well as of
past or future sensations of one's own, similar to those one is
actually having and has had. My own consciousness of my per-
manence and of my free activity enables me to conceive another
and similar permanence and agency that is not my own : my past
sensations enable me to imagine similar sensations experienced
in the past or the future — by myself or others. These ingredients
— unlike the unintelligible negation of unperceivable Matter — •
may legitimately be introduced into the positive conception of
real external existence. And they go to reconcile the tntermlttenle
of actual sensations with the presumed permanence of the things of
sense. The actual sensations in which the material world is given
are inevitably believed to be significant of co-existences and suc-
cessions that are not at the time given in the actual sense-
consciousness of the believer. Relations which are believed to be
invariable or universal are thus assumed to pervade the world of
actual sense ^. One actual sensation, or group of sensations is the
universal mark of other sensations or groups of sensation that are
not at the time actual. This relation of sensible sign and its cor-
relative, Berkeley would say, is the only imaginable meaning of
substantiality or causality, when they are attributed to essentially
dependent and passive phenomena like those of sense.

Further still, these practically all important relations of co-exist-
ence and succession among perceived sensations are, a priori^ at
this point of view, arbitrary. That is to say, there is no uncreated
or Divine necessity for their being what we find them to be. Any
sensation, or group of sensations, may be the constant or universal
sign of any other. A priori^ anything might be the physical co-

^ This belief in the orderliness, law, mon sense of the philosopher. Inductive

or thought expressed in Nature is in- methods are attempts to harmonize our

volved in the common sense of all, and is human thoughts with those objective

reflectively recognised in the reasoned com- thoughts.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 375

constituent, and physical cause of anything ; for physical substance
and causality are only the arbitrarily constituted signification of
actual sensations.

Thus, the only conceivable and practical, and for us the only
possible, substantiality in the material world is — permanence of
co-existence or aggregation among sensations j and the only con-
ceivable and practical, and for us the only possible, causality
among phenomena is — permanence or invariableness among their
successions.

These two are almost (but not quite) one. The actual or
conscious co-existence of all the sensations which constitute a
particular tree, or a particular mountain, cannot be simultaneously
realized. A few co-existing visible signs, for instance, lead us
to expect that the many other sensations of which the tree is the
virtual co-constituent would gradually be perceived by us, if the
conditions for our having actual sensations of all the other qua-
lities were fulfilled. The substantiality and causality of matter
thus resolve into a Universal Sense-symbolism, the interpretation
of which is the ofifice of physical science. The material world is
a system of interpretable signs, dependent for its actual existence
in sense upon the sentient mind of the interpreter: but significant
of guaranteed pains and pleasures, and the guaranteed means of
avoiding and attaining pains and pleasures : significant too of other
minds, and their thoughts, feelings, and volitions; and significant
above all of Supreme Mind, through whose Activity the signs are
sustained, and whose Archetypal Ideas are* the source of those
universal or invariable relations of theirs which make them both
practically and scientifically significant or objective. The per-
manence and efficiency attributed to Matter is in God— in the
constitutive Universals of Supreme Mind: sensations or sense-
given phenomena themselves, and sensible things, so far as they
consist of sensations, can be neither permanent nor efficient :
they are in constant flux. This indeed is from the beginning the
tone of Berkeley himself — much deepened in Sir'ts^'^.

'0 See the antithesis of Sense and Reason ancients, and some of the most enlightened

in Siris, Sect. 303—310. This recalls the among the moderns, as well as the Hiniioo

idealism of the ancient Hindoos, of which philosophers, to believe that the whole

Sir W. Jones has said that the difficulties creation was rather an energy than a work,

attending the vulgar notion of material sub- which the Infinite Mind, who is present at

stancesinducedmany of the wisest among the all times and in all places, exhibits to his

2,y6 Life aiid Letters of Bei^keley. [ch.

Thus sensible things arc in perpetual flux or successions^ ; yet it
is a flux or succession so ordered that our transitory, immediately
perceived, sensations signify steady relations among sensations,
which are apprehensible by the understanding in physical reason-
ing. The material world — its substance or permanence, its powers,
and its space — resolve themselves into a flux of beautifully signi-
ficant sensations, sense-ideas, or sense-phenomena, which are
perpetually sustained in existence by a Divine Reason and Will.
It is so that the Berkeleian Conception reconciles Plato with
Protagoras.

Do critics object to this sublime thought of what the material
world means — that it may be, and indeed has been, superseded
by the march of modern physical discovery ? If they do, they
show their own ignorance of the essence of the answer to
the New Qtiestion, or else of what physical research aims at.
Physical science professes only to add to our knowledge of what
sensible phenomena are the signs of what other sensible pheno-
mena. It can never convert the symbolism which forms its own
exclusive province into efficient causality. The progress of phy-
sical science is progress in the interpretation of sense-given signs.
It can have no tendency — however far it may be carried — towards
anything difl'^erent in kind from this. The implied principle of
Berkeley — that there can be nothing below real and significant
sensations, except conscious mind; and that this must be per-
petually below them, as the condition of their existence, and of their
significance or objectivity — leaves indefinite room for all possible
discovery of scientific fact and law. Faith and science, under this
conception, cannot come into collision : each works in a difl^^erent
region. Human and other animal life^ for instance, may even
be developed from inorganic conditions, consistently with Intel-
ligence being the deepest thing in existence — if physical evidence
can be found to prove this law of development. The proof can
only show that such is the Archetypal Idea of the beginning of

creatures as a set of perceptions, like a — a formula variously interpreted, but which
wonderful picture, or a piece of music, aptly expresses the experienced intermit-
always varied, yet always uniform. But this tence of the actual phenomena given in the
' sublime idealism ' omits elements which are senses, in contrast with the steady objectivity
at least latent in Berkeley, and exaggerates of their relatiojis, under the formal and effi-
others which are not latent. cient agency of Supreme Intelligence that
^' ndvTa pu, as the old philosophers said is recognised in Platonism.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 377

human conscious life, in its relation to the sensible system.
Mr. Darwin and Mr. Huxley, and the German physiologists have
room to move in, sufficient for reaching all that physical science
can accomplish. May not this arbitrary sense symbolism even
have been without a beginning— interpretable^ and more or less
interpreted by finite minds — but with co-eternal Intelligence for
its correlative and constant motive force ?

Again. Is there anything in the necessary dependence of per-
ceived sensations upon sentient mind which unfits them for being
signs to the individual percipient of the existence of other perci-
pient spirits, as well as of other perceived sensations ? Rather,
does not this very dependence make them more fit than a supposed
abstract or independent Matter could do to discharge the repre-
sentative or symbolical function ?

It is assumed then that sense-given phenomena — the sensations
or real ideas of Berkeley — are capable of representing other (sen-
tient or non-sentient) spirits, and their conscious acts and sensa-
tions ; as well as of representing other (past or future) sensations
of our own. One's present visual experience, for instance, may
represent, by its arbitrary symbolism, one's own, or some other
person's, tactual sensations. This is an intelligible sort of
externality. And indeed can any other sort of externality be
conceived than either — externality to our own present sense ex-
perience, in our now unactual past or future sense experience j
or, externality to our own personal experience altogether, in the
contemporaneous, as well as in the past or future, sense experi-
ence of other minds ? One or other of these two kinds of ex-
ternality is what we every day have to do with in fact. Actual
sensations are every moment signifying to us other sensations that
are not actual, but that, under certain conditions, would become
actual. Actual sensations are not themselves equivalent to actual
sensible things. They are only the representative signs of actual
sensible things ^ or (to put it otherwise) they are the signs of the
relations which constitute actual things. The things would become
perceived sensation, if all that the actual sensations really sig-
nify could be simultaneously converted into this, in any conscious
experience.

Sensible things then— trees, houses, mountains, our own bodies,
and those of other people ; in a word, the ' whole choir of heaven

3/8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

and furniture of earth' — relatively to the individual percipient —
consist at once of actually presented and of merely represented
sensations — the second element involving arbitrary or contingent
relations, and, thus far, universality or objectivity.

Yet this seems to give only a contingent and terminable
universality or reality to the Supreme Intelligence in the uni-
verse. For, according to Berkeley, the passive nature of sen-
sation implies — if our common-sense trust in the permanence
of sensible things may be yielded to — the constant activity of
Supreme Intending Mind, presenting the actual sensations; and
capable of making actual, where the established conditions are
realized, the merely represented sensations. This Divine Power
must be constant, and (though Berkeley is here doubtful in mean-
ing) must constantly work according to the Archetypal Ideas of
formal causation, if the order which constitutes sensible things is
permanent. The existence of this Power is, accordingly, only as
certain as the permanence of the sensible world is certain.

This was Berkeley's way of showing that God exists — of
demonstrating the necessity or universality of Mind — at least it
was his way in the early part of his life. But the revelation
of the existence of Supreme Mind or Power, which is given in
the intermittent existence of sensible things in sentient creatures,
seems, at best, evidence of the existence of Deity only so long as
this universe of actual and guaranteed sensation lasts. It does
not show the inherent absoluteness, universality, and necessity of
Mind. The Supreme Mind only covers the gaps in the continuity
of an intermittent, and on the whole finite, sensible Cosmos. It
has in this respect the same defect that the common evidence
for Deity in the natural universe has. It is co-existensive only
with the permanence of the present sensible system. This
still leaves room for Hume's conception of the universe (both
the perceived and the perceiving) being, as a whole, only a
unique or 'singular effect^ — which may excite the sense of
mystery, but which can never be resolved in human intelligence.

Berkeley, at least in his early philosophy, shows, I think, an
inadequate apprehension of the difference between the ignorant
imaginings of men and their guaranteed imaginings. He confuses
the account of sensible things, into which I have thus far tried to

X.] Philosophy of Ba^kcley. 379

develope his philosophy, by seeming to put the mere fancies of
human imagination on a par with the Archetypal Ideas of Supreme
Mind, as a support for sensible things in our absence, i. e. when
they are unactual sensations.

Take, for instance, the following passage, in the Common-place
Book :—

' You ask me whether the books are in the study now, when no one is
there to see them ? I answer, Yes. You ask me are we not in the wrong
in imagining things to exist when they are not actually perceived in the
senses? I answer, No. The existence of our ideas consists in being
perceived, imagined, thought on. Whenever they are imagined, or thought
on, they do exist. Whenever they are mentioned or discoursed of, they
are imagined or thought on. Therefore, you can at no time ask me,
whether they exist or no, but, by reason of that very question, they must
necessarily exist. But, say you, then a chimera does exist. I answer, it
doth in one sense, i. e. it is imagined. But it must be well noted that
existence is vulgarly restrained to actual perception, and that I use the
word perception in a larger sense than ordinary.'

Now it is true that whatever we are conscious of (even in
an arbitrary Imagination) exists, but it has not necessarily a
guaranteed sensible or external existence. Now, it is the mean-
ing of this existence that we want to analyse.

Or take the following from the Frinc'tples of Human Knoivledge : —

' But, say you, surely there is nothing easier than to imagine trees, for
instance, in a park, or books existing in a closet, and nobody by to
perceive them. I answer. You may so ; there is no difficulty in it : but
what is all this, I beseech you, more than framing in your mind certain
ideas which you call books and trees, and at the same time omitting to
frame the idea of any one that may perceive them ? But do not you your-
self perceive or think of them all the while. This therefore is nothing to
the purpose : it only shows you have the power of imagining, or forming
ideas, in your mind; but it doth not show that you can conceive it
possible the objects of your thought may exist without the mind : to
make out this, it is necessary that you conceive them existing uncon-
ceived or unthought of, which is a manifest repugnancy.'

All this confuses our notion of the difference between existence
in guaranteed, and existence in unguaranteed image or represen-
tation. One does not prolong the real or sense-given existence

380 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

of books in a closet, or of the furniture in a room, by arbitrarily
imagining these things to exist when one is away. My fancy that
they exist gives them merely a fanciful existence, unless there is
a guarantee, independently of my private fancy, that they would
re-appear as sense phenomena when I shall have fulfilled the
necessary conditions, e.g. by walking into the room and seeing
them. I cannot, merely by an act of my finite imagination, flash
back into real, that is to say, sensibly perceived, existence what
has been withdrawn from my senses. I can give it only an unreal
or imaginary existence. The Supreme Thoughts and Ends in the
universe alone give it reality, and enable now perceived sensations
to stand guarantee for the past or future actual existence of
imagined sensations.

Berkeley himself, no doubt, lays great stress on some of the
diflPerences between our experience of the real ideas (i. e. sensa-
tions) of perception proper, and the unreal ideas of the mere
human imagination — which last, he says, ' are more properly
termed ideas or images ^^.'

If the significant phenomena of which sensible things are com-
posed are thus perceived-sensation^ or sense-idea, it becomes
important to ponder on many sides the consistency with this of
the continued existence of sensible things — during the innumer-
able intervals when they are, in whole or in part, non-existent
in actual sensation. I am tempted to introduce the following
illustrative passages in the writings of two philosophers, one
Berkeley's immediate predecessor, the other one of his contempo-
raries— a German and an American. Take the following hints
in Leibnitz's curious tract De Modo Distinguendi Fkenomena Realia
ab Imaginarihj where he describes marks peculiar to the well-
ordered 'dream' of real life, as distinguishable in kind from
dreams commonly so called : —

* Potissimum realitatis phaenomenorum indicium quod vel solum
sufficit, est successus prsedicendi phgenomena futura ex praeteritis et
presentibus . . . imo etsi tota hsec vita non nisi somnium, et mundus
adspectabilis non nisi phantasma esse diceretur, hoc, sive somnium sive

^^ See, for instance, Principles of Human wards; and by their independence of our

Knowledge, sect. 29 — 33. But even when volition — ahhough the current of our ima-

he does this, he distinguishes ' real things ' gination, in dreams, for instance, seems in-

from ' chimeras' chiefly in degree — ' in being dependent of the will. A defect in his

more clear and vivid,' as Hume does after- account of space appears here.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 381

phantasma, ego satis reale dicerem, si ratione bene utentes numquam
ab eo deciperemur . . . Itaque nullo argumento absolute demonstrari
potest, dari corpora, nee quicquam prohibet somnia quaedam bene ordi-
nata menti nostrae objecta esse, quae a nobis vera judicentur, et ob con-
sensum inter se, quoad usum veris equivalent . . . Quid vero si tota hsec
brevis vita non nisi longum quoddam somnium esset nosque moriendo
evigileremus ? quale quid Platonici concipere videntur.'

The following is still more acutely to the point, and is all the
more to be referred to, because it proceeds from one whom we
have already unexpectedly found connected with Berkeley ^^ : —

' Since all material existence is only idea, this question may be asked —
In what sense may those things be said to exist, which are supposed,
and yet are in no actual idea of any created minds ? I answer, they
existed only in Uncreated Idea. But how do they exist otherwise than
they did from all eternity ; for they always were in Uncreated Idea and
Divine appointment ? I answer, They did exist from all eternity in
Uncreated Idea, as did everything else, and as they do at present, but
not in created idea. But it may be asked. How do those things exist,
which have an actual existence, but of which no created mind is con-
scious?— For instance, the furniture of this room, when we are absent,
and the room is shut up, and no created mind perceives it ; how do
these things exist .^ I answer, there has been in times past such a course
and succession of existences, that these things must be supposed, to make
the series complete, according to Divine appointment, of the order of
things. And there will be innumerable things consequential, which will
be out of joint, out of their constituted series, without the supposition of
these. For, upon the supposition of these things, are infinite numbers of
things otherwise than they would be, if these were not by God thus sup-
posed. Yea, the whole Universe would be otherwise ; such an influence
have these things, by their attraction and otherwise. Yea, there must be
a universal attraction, in the whole system of things, from the beginning
of the world to the end— and, to speak more strictly and metaphysically,
we must say, in the whole system and series of ideas in all created
minds ; — so that these things must necessarily be put in, to make complete
the system of the ideal world. That is, they must be supposed, if the
train of ideas be in the order and course settled by the Supreme Mind.
So that we may answer in short, that the existence of these things is in
God's supposing of them, in order to the rendering complete the scries
of things (to speak more strictly, the series of ideas) according to his own

" Remarks on Mind, by Jonathan Edwards, in the Appendix to liis Life.

382 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH.

settled order, and that harmony of things, which he has appointed. — The
supposition of God, which we speak of, is nothing else but God's acting,
in the course and series of his exciting ideas, as if they (the things
supposed) were in actual idea.'

There is an oversight of the full force of the objection, and also of
the answer to it, in the illustration in this last passage — an over-
sight of which Berkeley himself, and all others, so far as I am aware,
who have referred to this curious question, are guilty — although what
is overlooked is implied in the very Principle of Berkeley himself.
When it is asked how the furniture of a room continues to exist in
the absence of a percipient, it seems to be forgotten that the same
question might be put regarding its continued existence when
he is present. When I see an orange on a table, without touch-
ing it, or applying any of my senses except seeing to it, most
of the sense phenomena of which it consists are not actual,
as far as my sense-consciousness of them is concerned. There
is as gieat (or as little) difficulty in reconciling this conception
of the meaning of sensible things with our experience of a sen-
sible thing when it is said to be actually presented to us, as there
is in reconciling it with the continued existence of the furniture
of a room when no one is in the room, or with the continued
existence of the solar system before men or other sentient beings
existed (as modern geology reveals it), or after all of them may
have been withdrawn from it ^^.

Thus, a ' sensible thing ' means to us a group of conceivable sensa-
tions, universally or objectively guaranteed by the perceived sensa-
tions with which they are associated. The existence of a sensible
thing, accordingly, implies all that can be found by critical analysis
to be implied in the existence of an actual sensation, and also in
the existence of this guarantee.

If the reader has tested by reflection what I have thus far
written, he may perhaps be willing to accompany me in pondering
some hitherto unremarked phases of the Berkeleian conception,
and some of its less remarked relations to antecedent and later
philosophical thought.

" The Archetypal Conceptions of Deity ceivable Matter he argues against. And

are not prominent in Berkeley, though they then the question rises, Are they more intel-

are involved in his sensible world, inas- ligible than the abstract Matter for which

much as his philosophy really puts them at they are substituted ? Of this elsewhere,
last in place of the unconceived or incon-

X.] Philosophy of Bej-keley. 383

(B.)
The Berkeleian Immediate Perception of Extended Sensible Reality.

It has been overlooked by historians of philosophy that the
Berkeleian account of what is meant by sensible reality might be
made eclectically to combine truth that is divided between two
opposite accounts of sense-perception, which in last century and
in the present have played a considerable part in the history of
at least British philosophy. I refer to the controversy as to
whether our perception of the real things of the sensible world
is immediate, and so of the nature of a being conscious
of them ; or whether, on the contrary, it is throughout mediate
and representative. Reid, the Scotch philosopher, takes credit
to himself for having exploded the favourite hypothesis, that in
the senses we are percipient only of ideas or representations of
real things. '■ I think there is hardly anything that can be called
mine in the philosophy of mind,' he says, ' which does not follow
with ease from the detection of this prejudice.' Hamilton has
worked out immediate perception to profound issues uncontem-
plated by Reid. And Dean Mansel has still more clearly enforced
the non-representative character of the phenomena presented in
sense, and the consequent impossibility of error in direct sense-
perception.

Now, the immediate perception of Berkeley is, in spirit and
intention, an anticipation of Reid, Hamilton, and Dean Mansel j
while the sense symbolism of Berkeley preserves what is good in
the spirit of the counter supposition of representative activity being
involved in what seems on the surface to be a direct knowledge of
sensible things. This subj:;ct is worth looking into for a little.

Berkeley saw not less acutely than Reid did, that the favourite
assumption of a double object in sense-perception mistook the
very meaning of sensible reality and externality. He acknow-
ledged only a single object, and that the very sense-given pheno-
menon itself — in short, the very £ensation (as he often called it)
of which one is conscious, — no abstract sensation, mark, of which
there can be no knowledge at all. And sensations, he said, imply
a percipient; they are also both substantially and causally diftercnt
from the Ego i or rather '7' am both substantially and causally

384 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

diflFerent from them : I exclude or expel them from myself — in the
antithesis of sensibility and will.

Des Cartes, Malebranche, Locke, and contemporary philosophers,
on the other hand, took for granted that what we perceive in the
senses is not the very reality itself. They supposed that in sense
we could be conscious only of a representation {Idea as soms of
them called it) of the real thing — the reality itself existing beyond
sight and sense, behind the subjective representations. Of the very
reality it seemed to them that we could not be directly percipient
at all. A world of representations — from which perhaps we may
infer a real existence behind — was all that we could perceive. By
reasoning, they tried to defend the reasonableness of our belief in
the unperceived reality ; but all the reasoning they offered seemed
not enough for the purpose. So faith in other minds and in God
was ready to dissolve in mere sensationalism; or in a subjective
idealism, on the extreme homo mensura principle. All this, Berkeley
thought, was the very root of Scepticism ; — ' for so long as men be-
lieve that real things subsist without the mind, and that their
knowledge is only so far forth real as it is conformable to real
things, they cannot be certain that they have any knowledge at
all.' 'How,' he asks, 'can it be known that the things which are
perceived (i. e. only the representative ideas) are conformable to
those things that are not perceived, or that exist without the
mind 15?' We can test the representations of our imagination by
the presentations of sense. But, if what is given in sense too is
essentially representative, how can we verify its representations ?
To lay a foundation for real knowledge, we must have a direct
perception of the sort of stuff sensible things are made up of to
begin with.

Now, entia non sunt multipUcanda prater necessitatem. There is
no need, he began to see, for the supposition of an unperceived, in-
conceivable substance and cause as this external reality. On the
favourite philosophical assumption of a double object in all sense-
perception — a representative idea, and an unperceivable reality
which the idea stands for — w^ cannot, under any conditions,
be face to face with a single specimen of sensible existence.

'5 ' Without the mind,' i.e., in the case of ing real truth, viz. that our ideas can only be

sentient beings, irrelatively to sensations. compared with one another, never with the

All this is intended to meet the old sceptical very reality itself,
argument against the possibility of our reach-

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 385

But let something sensibly real— something from which physical
science may start on its course of interpreting natural signs —
be only given, and then, by interpretation [natura interpret at 10)^
we can work our way, in physical discoveries, to a reasonable
belief in the existence — past, present, and future — of many other
sensible phenomena and things, which never actually come within
our individual experience in the senses. But how can physical
science extend, or even commence, its victories, if it must begin
by taking for granted that no specimen of the sensibly real
can ever be present to consciousness? The spirit of this ques-
tion is involved in the thought alike of the Irish and of the
Scotch philosophers.

Why not boldly deny then, once for all, that there is a double
object in our original experience as percipient beings ? Why not
try whether life on this planet may not become more simple and
intelligible, and our belief in surrounding moral agents, and in
Supreme Mind, more deep and enlightened, on the common-sense
supposition of a single object only, and that the real object — on a
return, in short, to concrete facts, from verbal reasonings and
abstract suppositions ?

This was in spirit the question entertained in common by two
eighteenth-century philosophers usually placed in antagonism —
Berkeley, who regarded himself as the common-sense metaphy-
sician of Ireland; and Reid and his successors, who proclaimed
themselves the common-sense metaphysicians of Scotland. I am
not sure that expressions in Berkeley did not actually suggest
the thought to Reid i^. Berkeley and the Scotch psycholo-
gists are at any rate, without concert, agreed in insisting on
the abolition of the representative or hypothetical Realism
which insists that the real, sensible thing must necessarily be
wholly out of sight and sense, hid behind the ideal or repre-
senting object that is assumed to be all that is given to us as
its substitute. They both say in effect— 'Why not let go one
of these two counterpart worlds, and recognise as real the world
which remains, and which is directly given to us?' Both seek
by this means to restore a languishing philosophical faith in what

i« Reid says that in one part of his life ideas, so firmly as to embrace the whole^^f
he believed the doctrine of perception of Berkeley's system in consequence ot it.
things through the medium of representative Intellectual Powers, Essay II. ch. lo.

VOL. IV. C C

386 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

is beyond sense. And Berkeley has in consequence helped to inau-
gurate a new conception of the nature of the sense-given medium
of intercourse, through which the conscious persons who are im-
mersed in this phenomenal world of 'sensations' converse with
one another and with God.

But, while Berkeley and the Scotch psychologists are agreed
in discarding the dogma that the real material world is hid behmd
the representative world of which only (it had been assumed) we
can be conscious in- the senses, they differ (or seem to differ) as
to which of the two is to be discarded ^"^ .

Look first at the Immediate Sense-Realism of Berkeley. He dis-
cards— as an unintelligible abstraction — the supposed unperceiving
and unperceived archetypal material world behind, and recognises
in our very sensations or sense-given phenomena themselves the
only real sensible things. By interpreting sense-given phenomena,
whose order and significance enable us to infer past, and to foresee
future phenomena j or, like the handwriting on the wall, reveal
the present existence and activity of other conscious minds like
our own — we form our notions of sensible things, and become
en rapport with other persons. We are able, as it were, to look
into what might have been our own past sense-experience, and
reasonably to expect what our own future sense-experience is to
become ; and we are also able to look into other conscious expe-
rience than our own — like our own, yet not ours. But we cannot
look at, we cannot imagine, sense phenomena, and sensible things,
continuing to exist out of all relation to any conscious mind.
Our ^sensations' (as Berkeley chooses to call them), of which we
cannot be conscious without perceiving them to be at once ours
and not ours — at once in subjective and in objective relations, are

'' We may rudely symbolize the contrast outer circle, and tried to show that the
of presentative and representative Percep- inner retains all that can belong to presen-
tion ; also that between Berkeley's presenta- tations or phenomena given in the senses ;
tionism, and that of Reid and Hamilton, by which, as presentative, are the human pro-
help of the circumferences of two concentric totype of all that is imaginable regarding
circles — a greater and a smaller — the con- the things of sense. Reid abolished the
scious mind being supposed in the centre. inner circle, or professed to do so, and to
Perception through representative ideas may bring the outer circle within our immediate
be figured by the two circles — the inner knowledge. Qu. In what do the two circles
standing for the ideas we are conscious of, differ, when the outer is recognised in its
and the outer by the reality in space which true relation to our sensation and to uni-
they stand for. Berkeley abolished the versal intelligence?

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 387

the kind of matter or stuff of which sensible things are composed,
and out of which they are perpetually kept in being by the construc-
tive activity of Divine, and the receptivity and activity of human
mind. The universal relations, or rules, according to which sen-
sations are excited in the system of sentient beings, are, under this
conception, what we commonly call the Laws of Nature.

The existence of this material world, Berkeley proclaims '", can-
not be denied. It does not need to be proved. Its very esse is
percipi, which is the same as to say that its essence consists in its
being composed of sensation j — sensation that is at once dependent
on the sentient, and, in its cause and other relations, independent
of the sentient — at once subjective and objective — as every sense-
given phenomenon must be. This, he would further say, is the
only material world which a reflective common sense requires.
The supplementary Matter, behind these percepts of sense, is a
baseless hypothesis — a crotchet of the professional manufacturers
of abstractions, which unsophisticated human beings would laugh
at, if they could only be got to understand its meaning, or rather
its absolute want of all possible intelligibility. Such is the Im-
mediate Sense-Realism of Berkeley.

Turn now from Berkeley to those Scotch psychologists who
have been placed, by themselves and others, at the opposite intel-
lectual pole. Berkeley and Hamilton, for instance, are at one in
acknowledging that the sensible reality consists of— that which we
perceive or are conscious of in the senses. They seem to differ
in their accounts of ijjhat that is of which we are thus conscious.
Berkeley would arrest metaphysical scepticism by surrendering — as
absolute Negation — the supposed unperceiving and unperceived
existence (behind what we perceive), to which exclusively reality
had been attributed j and by energetically vindicating the applica-
bility of the terms 'real,' 'objective,' 'external,' 'thing,' 'matter,'
&c., to our extended sensations themselves, in their various signi-
ficant, and therefore (at least contingently) universal, or objective
relations. The Scotch psychologists, with a similar motive, take
the other alternative. Instead of surrendering the unperceiving
and unperceived world, supposed by some philosophers to exist

18 See many passages in the Commonplace Book, and in the Principles and Dialogues.

C C 2

388 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

behind what we perceive, and to be the material noumenon or
thtng-in-itself^ they surrender the supposed representative ideas,
and seem sturdily to assert that in sense-perception we are face
to face with a world that exists independently of all sensation and
of all intelligence — an extended world that in its essence might
survive the absolute extinction of all the conscious life in the
universe. Both root the faith which we have in the real exist-
ence of other minds, in the assumption of common reason — that
in the senses we are conscious of being in direct intercourse with
the very reality of external things. If external things are per-
ceived immediately, we have, according to Reid, the same reason
to believe in their existence that philosophers have to believe in
their supposed representative ideas — we are conscious of them, in
short. But the supposed representative ideas themselves, Berkeley
virtually says, are not representative at all ; they are neither more
nor less than this — our really experienced sensations, with what-
ever is metaphysically involved in sensation. These, with their
significant, because invariable, relations, are a sufficient medium
for revealing to the individual percipient the universe of sensible
things, and the contemporaneous existence of other spirits : no
other sort of external reality than this, he would say, is required,
or can even be conceived possible i'*.

Thus, in the eighteenth century, the state of this ancient philo-
sophical controversy was changed. Instead of an offer of evidence
for the transcendent reality of a material world, we are first asked
by Berkeley to consider what we ought to mean by its reality; and
then we are asked by Reid to assume the reality, but without
any deeper inquiry about the meaning of what we thus assume.
Berkeley and (so far) the Scotch psychologists are agreed in
abandoning mere conjectures and abstractions, and in entreating
people to read the facts of sense -experience with a fresh eye.
We do not need, they say, to hunt up evidence that a real world

'* In an essay in the North British the relations between Hamilton's conception
Review (No. 85) on Mr. Mill's speculation and Berkeley's. The remarks were the oc-
about the nature of Matter and Mind, in his casion of an interesting essay in the Fort-
Examination 0/ Sir W. Hamilton s Phi- w/^ib^/y /Jmew (Sept. 1866), on the question,
/oso/'jby, I ventured some remarks on Hamil- 'Was Sir W. Hamilton a Berkleian?' by
ton's Unconditioned, on the import of this Dr. J. Hutchison Stirling, to whose fervid
negative conception, in its relation to Ber- genius English readers are so much indebted
keley's negation of Abstract Matter, and on for exercise of thought about Hegel.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 389

of Matter exists, behind phantasms of which alone we were
presupposed to be directly conscious. On the contrary, they ask
us, on the faith of experience, to accept as the sensible reality
those of the (supposed) phantasms which make their appearance in
the senses. The phenomena thus offered to us — call them ' ideas,'
or ' sensations,' or ' phenomena,' or ' percepts,' or ' external things,'
as we please — are, Berkeley proclaims, real enough for all practical
purposes j because they are real enough to connect us, through their
relations (which physical science tolerably interprets), with the
Cosmos, with the other spirits involved in it, and with Supreme
Mind. If this is so, the office of human understanding, when it
is applied to the world of the senses, is to interpret the meaning
of the phenomena offered in sense — not to defend the existence
of sensible things, which do not need defence.

A comparison of these two modes of thought regarding the
sensible universe suggests a question which underlies both, but
of which neither Berkeley nor the Scotch psychologists were
fully in sight, though it rises in some of the aphorisms of Sir'ts.
Existence (sensible or any other) cannot, in its nature, Berkeley,
I suppose, means to say, survive the extinction of all intelligent
activity in the universe j and the actual phenomena presented in
sense cannot survive the extinction of sense-intelligence. Try to
conceive the extinction : we cannot. It is blank negation, with-
out even the thought of its being negation. This is proof, by
mental experiment, we may suppose him to say, of the absolute
impossibility of an existence that is unperceiving and unperccived
— that is not perceiving or conscious, as a concrete mind always
is 20 • nor perceived, as every concrete sensation must be.

Now, is conscious life necessarily the deepest thing in exist-
ence ? May there not be uncreated conditions of conscious expe-
rience which are deeper still, inasmuch as by them all conscious

^" The unbroken continuity of conscious to the conscious mind- with all the condi-

existence in finite niinds is a difficulty with tions or relations implied in this. Imme-

Berkeley, as well as what is meant by the diate perception of sense-given phenomena

unity which constitutes a finite person. He — in which, by the way, the concrete or

tries to meet the former by arguing from secondary are necessarily blended with the

the essentially relative nature of Time. By abstract or primary qualities — is an obtru-

being conscious I mean, knowing pheno- sive example of what is meant by being

mena, whether extended or unextended, conscious. So too one's apprehension of a

which are immediately and actually present feeling while one is feeling it.

390 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

life that ever makes its appearance must ci priori be regulated ?
May not the distinction between Matter and Form, for instance,
be one of these conditions? Berkeley himself seems to imply
that a formal, efficient, and final Cause is an uncreated con-
dition of those perceiving and perceived beings, in the midst
of which we find ourselves, and which alone we can positively
imagine. May there not be other a priori conditions of existence,
besides these, all forming as it were the uncreated essence of
Deity, and manifested now, more or less fully, in our sensible
world ? It seems as if Berkeley were coming in sight of this
question in 5/m, and that in some passages we have a recognition
of its relevancy and propriety. It was perhaps suggested to him
by his more comprehensive study, in later life, of Ancient
Philosophy. The conception of uncreated necessities, at once of
thought and of existence, dimly unfolds itself in his account of the
Platonic and the Aristotelian notion of Matter ; and also in the
speculation about Personality, as distinguishable from Reason and
Life in Deity, in the Philosophical Trinity with which Siris
concludes 21.

With Berkeley, then, as professedly with Reid and Hamilton,
the actual extended phenomena which compose sensible things are
presented in perception — that is to say, we are conscious of them.
So far, he is what Hamilton calls a natural realist — a believer
in presentative, as contrasted with a representative perception.
But, at another point of view, is he not also (unconsciously to
himself, I might say) a representationist, or a believer in a
mediate perception of sensible things ?

Berkeley surely goes too far in the passages in which he speaks
of all doubt regarding the existence of sensible things (things I say,
not mere unaggregated phenomena ^2) being impossible on his phi-
losophy— as impossible, I suppose, as it is to doubt the existence of
a feeling of pain or of pleasure when one is actually conscious
of either. Berkeley here assumes too much for his natural realism.
He is virtually a representationist as well as a presentationist.

^' See ^/ns, sect. 3 1 1 — 318,351 — 3^2. different sorts, aggregated in accordance
^ Sensible things, it is to be re- with the universals which are their formal
membered, are sense-given phenomena, of cause.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 391

It is certainly impossible to doubt the existence of a sensation,
while we are sentient of it, or of a group of sensations, while
we are sentient of them. So far as sensations involve immediate
perceptions, it may be said that their existence cannot conceivably
be doubted. But external things — trees, houses, mountains, the
starry heavens — are, as I have reiterated, more than actually per-
ceived sensations These are chiefly not actual sensations at all ;
they are rather that which the sensations signify. When I see a
tree, the greater number by far of its so-called qualities do not
exist as actual sensations of mine. My sensations signify the
future existence of those so-called qualities, as actual sensations
of mine, on certain conditions being fulfilled which are intelligible
to the understanding. The sensations which I have are signifi-
cant of other sensations which 1 have not, although the represen-
tative conceptions of those other sensations are included in what
I reasonably believe about the partially presented ' tree.' And
if we apply, as common language almost obliges us to do, the term
' perception ' to our discernment of the individual tree as a whole,
as well as to the present sensational experience of the small
portion of it contained in our visual consciousness at the time,
we may then say that perception is representative or mediate, as
well as presentative or immediate.

There is thus room (in im.agination at least) for doubt about
the existence of sensible things ; — that is to say, doubt is not for-
bidden, in the same way as doubt about the existence of those
of their sensational constituents of which we are actually having
sensations is forbidden, at the time when we are having the sen-
sations. We can suppose our actual sensations to be false signs
of other sensations (not at the moment actually experienced), and
also false signs of the existence of other persons like ourselves.
The supposition of their falsity as signs would be simply a doubt
about the rational presumption, that natural order is constant or
uniform — that we are living in a steadily sustained Cosmos ^3.

According to this conception, thus further carried out, there is
an element of truth in the assumption of a presentative perception j
but there is also an element of truth in the assumption of a repre-
sentative perception. We have interrupted perceptions : there is
an uninterrupted sense significance. Respect for any hypothesis,

'^ Cf. Siris, sect. 252.

392 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

like that of representative perception, which has permanently
governed well-exercised minds favours this sort of eclecticism.
Scintillations of truth may be found in all long-standing opinions.

We may, accordingly, examine the representative, or mediate
perception, which, as well as the intuitive or presentative sort,
is thus latent in the New Conception of Berkeley.

Berkeletan Mediate Perception^ or Presumptive Inference of the existence
of Sensible Things and their Relations — illustrated in the Theory of
Vision.

Many plausible reasons have induced philosophers to assume
that all perception of the extended world must be in its very
nature representative. The principal one has been the difficulty
of reconciling the intermittent character of sense phenomena with
the supposed permanence or continued identity of sensible things
— the flux of sense-given phenomena, contrasted with the supposed
influxable nature of external things. The presumed ontological
antithesis between what is conscious and what is space-occupying
was another : but this was more an artificial difficulty of abstract
metaphysics.

The conclusive objection to a perception that is throughout only
representative is, that this is either a wanton reduplication of what
might be given in simplicity, if the representative medium is an
image of what it represents; or that, on the other hand, it in-
volves scepticism, if the real world has no analogy at all to the
current and (so-called) representing medium. ' Human imagina-
tion cannot represent what has never been presented to it — what
it has never been conscious of. For instance, a man born blind
cannot imagine scarlet, or any other colour. Till we have had
some direct or conscious experience of the sort of phenomena
of which the sensible world consists, we cannot begin to represent
material things to ourselves, either in the senses or in imagination.
After we have had this direct experience, representation or imagi-
nation is easy — and language or symbolical representation too;
for the represented is then similar in kind to what has been already
presented — and the two, moreover, may be brought together by

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 393

means of non-resembling signs. Till we have had sensible expe-
rience of sights, and been also conscious of locomotive exertion
and the feelings of contact, coloured extension, and resistance, we
cannot make of the former signs, on which to rest an expectation
of future instances of the latter. After we have had sensible
experience of both, we can, and do, employ the one as means of
practical information about the other. Now, this sort of repre-
sentative and acquired perception is no mere hypothesis.

This brings us to Berkeley's Theory of Vision, or Visual Lan-
guage, in which what may be called representative, or at least
substitutive and symbolical, perception is latent. The theory
supplies by far the most curious and elaborate example of that
sort of perception, and of the universal relations which are worked
into external things. Accordingly, it is deeply worthy of critical
examination, and in some detail.

There is at once an antithesis and a synthesis involved in all
sensible things. The purport of the new account of Vision is to
shed light upon both, where both are most apt to be hid — in the
antithesis and synthesis of visual dsiA ^^c^w^;/ sensations or qualities.
' How comes it to pass,' Berkeley asks, ' that we apprehend by the
ideas of sight certain other ideas, which neither resemble them,
nor cause them, nor are caused by them, nor have any necessary
connection with them ? . . . The solution of this problem, in its
full extent, doth comprehend the whole theory of vision. This
stating of the matter placeth it on a new foot, and in a different
light from all preceding theories ^V

His solution explains the fact of the connection of what is im-
mediately seen with its real but unseen meaning. The expla-
nation reposes (and this has been often overlooked) upon the moral
presumption of a divinely established association between visible
phenomena and tangible phenomena — a rationally maintained
harmony between the visual and the tactual phenomena in
nature.

The proposition that much which is commonly called percep-
tion, but which is properly induction, is founded on this objective
or universal sort of association requires reflective analysis. Till we

^* Theory of Vision Vindicated and Explained, sect. 42.

394 ^tf^ ^^^^ Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

have reflected deeply, we are apt to take for granted (for obvious
reasons) that we can see and touch the same immediate object of
sense. There is an orange on the table before us. We sponta-
neously say that we at once see it and touch it. But this * it '
conceals what might carry us to the heart of things — seeming
to imply that when we see the orange, and touch the orange,
we can see what we are touching, and touch what we are seeing.
Now, the visibly extended sensations which we perceive when
we are seeing an orange have really nothing in common with
the hard, resisting sensations which we perceive when we are
touching an orange. We cannot possibly identify the perception
of expanded colour^ which is all that originally constitutes seeing,
with the perception of felt resistance^ which is all that originally
constitutes touching. Coloured extension is antithetical to felt
extension. In fact, we do not see, we never saw, and we never
can see the orange of mere touch ; we do not touch, we never
touched, and we never can touch the orange of mere sight. We
connect them under the same name indeed. But is not this after
we have had experience of each, and also after an unvarying ex-
perience has informed us that they were companions ? After we
have had this experience, as soon as we see the visible orange
within our reach, we confidently predict that, on certain organic
conditions being fulfilled, we shall have experience of a tangible
orange. The simultaneous modifications of coloured expanse which
form our visual consciousness are accepted as reliable signs which
foretell the successive modifications of tactual and locomotive sensa-
tion which will ensue if we take the orange into our hands and play
with it. We may say, if we choose, that we both see and touch
the extension of that or any other sensible thing • but in saying this
we are playing with words. When we test our words by our ex-
perience, we find that the sensibly extended world of which we are
conscious in pure seeing has nothing but the name in common
with the sensibly extended world of which we are conscious in
pure tactual, muscular, and locomotive sense. They are no more
to be identified (and called by the same name) than the nine
letters which compose the word * extension ' are to be identi-
fied, either with the colours contemporaneously present in vision,
or with the (partly continuous and partly broken) sensations of
resistance of which we are conscious when our bodies or any of

X.] • Philosophy of Berkeley. 395

their organs are in motion. In vision, ' extension ' consists of a
greater or less number of minima vislbiUa ; in touch, it consists of
a greater or less number of minima tanglblUa — the magnitude of the
sensible thing, in each case, being proportioned to the number of
its respective units; — and the term 'extension' being exclusively
applicable to either, according as we prefer the greater practical
importance of the tangible signification, on the one hand, or the
greater clearness and distinctness in imagination of its visible
sign, on the other.

Thus, in this curious life of ours in the sensible world, tangible
things are signified by visual sensations ; and it may be added that
visible things are signified, though less distinctly, by tactual and
locomotive sensations. Faith in an established or external associ-
ation between these two kinds of sense-phenomena is the basis
of the constructive activity of intellect in all inductive interpreta-
tion of sensible things. All our sense-phenomena, as well as the
visual and tactual ones, are indeed cosmically associated. But the
associations between smells and tastes, for instance, or between
tastes and sounds, are far less elaborate, and far less fitted to
give a distinct, and easily imaginable objectivity to the realities
of which the sense-phenomena we are actually conscious of are
the signs, than associations between what is seen and what is felt.
Even isolated sensations are, as I have tried to show, necessarily
significant of more than themselves; for they cannot but signify a
sentient being, and an efficient cause external to that sentient
being: every sensation thus necessarily involves more than sensa-
tion. It is a very obscure notion of externality, however^ that
could be involved in isolated sensations — a series of sensations of
physical pleasure and physical pain, for instance. It is only when
we are concerned with the relations between what is seen and what
is felt that the objective element, latent in all intelligent or con-
scious sensation, becomes distinct, in that elaborate standing
order of nature of which these two sorts of sensation are emphati-
cally the signs, and in being so are the signs of the Rational Con-
ceptions of which that order is the expression. Isolated sensations,
accordingly, are not to be confounded with the permanent realities
which are perceived [percepta — taken hold of, through their means).
Perception attains to a higher development in the correlative ex-
perience of the seen and the felt than it does in any other sort

396 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

of sense-experience. It is here obtrusively concerned with the
thought, meaning, or universaUty that is in nature, for it is con-
cerned with distinctly ascertainable natural law. Moreover, the
sensational signs themselves are often blended with their mean-
ing, in the same way as spoken or written words are, when used,
as they are habitually, without a distinct consciousness, at the
moment we are using them, of what they signify ^-^

/ Berkeley has been credited with the discovery of the in-
visibility of Distance. The proposition, ' distance is invisible,'
has been supposed by many to exhaust his peculiar Theory of
Vision. This involves a confusion of thought as to what his
discovery really is, and a misconception of his chief purpose.
As I have shown elsewhere, the fact is that he takes the invis-
ibility of distance in the line of sight for granted, as a common
scientific truth of his time. He takes for granted that in seeing
we can have no original or presentative perception of this kind
of distance j and that we must learn to see it representatively
through a medium — which, of course, is not seeing it at all.
The question that he really investigates is, the question of the
medium — what it is. Is it mathematical relations, involved in
what is seen, which yield a knowledge of distance as a necessary
inference? or is discernment of distance simply an interpretation
of physical meaning — a discovery of arbitrarily established, not
of absolutely necessitated, relations of sensations among them-
selves? His main aim is, to prove that the relations which
contribute to form distance, and trinal extension, are entirely
arbitrary — founded on Divine Will and Plan, — not necessary re-
lations, derived from uncreated conditions of Being. ' Seeing
distance,' in short, is, with him, — interpreting the arbitrary
tactual meaning of sensations given in sight, — not evolving
mathematically necessary relations. This visual interpretation is
the most striking and beautiful of all examples of the genuine
kind of representative — or, as we should perhaps call it, substitu-
tive, or interpretative — Perception. In it is wrapped up the

'^^ The Hamiltonian teaching about the elements in perception — and even the Aris-

inverse ratio of sensation and perception, totelian Common Sensibles, are curiously

and older teaching about the distinction approached in this paragraph, by a new

between primary and secondary qualities of route — distinctions which mere Materialism,

Matter,— i.e. the necessary and the empirical and Subjective Idealism alike annihilate.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 397

whole problem of cause and effect among sensible events, regarded
per se — physical causation, in short.

Now, is physical causation a purely arbitrary relation of sign and
signification, or does it imply an uncreated necessity in things ?
This is one question discussed by implication in the theory of
vision, directed as its analysis is to those relations of co-existence
and succession among the phenomena of the sensible world, which,
a fortiori J are necessary, if any are. The question at the root of the
Berkeleian account of vision might be expressed thus : — Is the
sensible world kept together and sustained by a Mathematical
and Materialistic Necessity, or by a Free and Rational Will -^ ?
If even the very connection between the visible and tangible qua-
lities of things is not due to an uncreated necessity, but to the
voluntary, providential activity of God, we may conclude that the
essential texture or construction of the sensible world throughout
is thus voluntary and arbitrary. When we look at Berkeley's
speculation about vision as a whole, in its earlier and in its
later form, we find that it tends to not less than this. It is a
stroke directed against Materialistic Necessity and Blind Fatalism
in the universe, by the abolition of all (previously supposed)
necessary connection among the sense-given phenomena which
go to constitute, and which suggest to us, sensible things : it
enforces the essential arbitrariness of all such connection. That
even 'vision of distance' is interpretation and not demonstration
is as it were a crucial instance.

The theory of vision, then, is a reasoned defence of the
proposition — that what is called 'seeing' the externality, dis-
tance, figure, and size of a real thing is truly interpreting the
visual signs with which real externality, distance, figure, and size
are arbitrarily but universally associated in the perpetual provi-
dence of a Supreme Mind. It is based upon those universals that
are arbitrary, not on uncreated necessities of knowing and being.

It is a question, and to some extent one of detail, whether
Berkeley, in this part of his system, has drawn the line with
accuracy between the sensible signs — which are visual, and the
intelligible significations — which are (not tangible but) invisible.

^^ Mathematical necessity itself is, with existence of concrete physical cases corres-
Berkeley, founded on the assumption of the ponding to the relations.

398 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

He may be right, for instance, in treating the relation as in
its nature one of physical and arbitrary connection, and yet
wrong in part or all of his account of what the actual language
is ; in the same manner as one might argue, in a general way,
the arbitrariness of the relations between the names in any lan-
guage (Greek or German, for instance) and their meanings, while
he is unacquainted with the languages themselves. He may also
be right in conceiving the relation to be analogous to what we
find in artificial language, and yet wrong in supposing that man
requires to learn the language by experience and association of
ideas : its meaning might be given to us instinctively, as it were.
It may be worth while, then, to look at some of the objections
which have been made to Berkeley's account of what the visual
signs are j what is given in them ; and how they come to
signify for us what he says they signify. After that, the implied
account of what physical causation is, and the nature of inductive
inquiry, might be considered j also the dogmatic assumption of
the ' arbitrariness ' of Supreme Rational Will.

As objections to Berkeley's account of the manner in which we
yaiscover trinal extension, it has been argued: — thpi he has given
no proof that distance is, absolutely and in all its degrees, in-
visible ; that he has given no proof that distance is in any of its
degrees perceived in touch ; that he has not proved the supposed
association between the visible and the tangible on which the
theory reposes j and that the signs of distance are not merely arbi-
trary, for that the perspective lines, for instance, which he allows
are signs of distance, could not be other than they are, and imply
a sense of necessity — so that persons born blind can anticipate
the visible constructions of geometry, in a way which seems to
show that visible and tangible extension are no more heterogeneous
than visible and tangible number-''.

In the first place, then, according to Berkeley, distance cannot
be seen. It is said that he has not proved the paradox. Let us

^ Some of these objections may be found in disprove the received {or Berkleian) Theory

the work of the latest, and one of the ablest, of Fis/ora, (1864). On this work I made

adverse critics of the Theory of Vision — some hastily written observations, a few

the present eminent Professor of Moral Philo- weeks after its appearance, in an article in

sophy, in Berkeley's own College. See Mr. the North British Review, No. 81.
Abbott's Sight and Touch : an attempt to

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 399

distinctly understand what is intended, when it is asserted that
distance cannot be seen, and what the reasons for the assertion are.

In the wide meaning of the word 'seeing,' it is allowed by all
who know what they are speaking about, that distance can be seen.
We can certainly see signs of distances j for example, degrees of
confusion in what we see — when the real thing whose distance we
are said to see is near at hand; aerial and linear perspective,
combined with a previous knowledge of the intermediate things
in the visible panorama, — when the sensible reality is more
remote. The vague expression ' seeing things around us to be
at different distances,' accordingly, means (original or acquired)
power to interpret perspective. What Berkeley denied was, that
the visible panorama could, before trial, inform us what our
tactual and locomotive sensations would be, if we were to try
to have the sensible experience which we call moving our body
or any of its members. He, further, denied that we could have
this knowledge without some experience of the established con-
nection between the visual sensations and the tactual or loco-
motive ones; — and one may add, even with that, unless we also
recognise and trust in those inwrought Archetypal Conceptions to
which nature conforms, and which thus constitute the Cosmos.
If we choose, with this important explanation of our meaning, to
call the habit of interpreting visual signs of distance, ' seeing
distances,' psychology does not forbid, and conventional language
rather invites us.

What, th^, is the soi-t of distance which cannot be seen, the
invisibility of which was proclaimed by the received science of
Berkeley's own time? I do not believe that he meant to say that
distance was in all respects invisible, and that unextended colour
could alone be seen. The sensations which we perceive in seeing
involve more than colour. They may involve intervals between
coloured points. Now, visible distance is necessarily an interval
between two visible points. Wherever distance is seen, two
points (with a greater or less interval between them) must be
seen. A single point does not, and cannot, give any distance
at all.

The conclusion, then, which Berkeley set out by accepting from
science was, that distance, or an interval between two points,
cannot be seen, in those cases in which the object seen is strictly

400 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

in the line of vision, and not extended laterally before the eye.
In other words, he assumed that outness from the eye — externality,
in this secondary meaning of ' externality' — the thickness of space,
in short, cannot be seen : it is not given in any of the purely
visual phenomena of w^hich we are percipient. Distance becomes
visible only when it becomes angular, that is to say, extended
either right and left, or vertically.

Here are his own words ^^ ; —

* It is, I think, agreed by all, that distance [i. e. distance in a direct
line outwards], of itself and immediately, cannot be seen. For distance
being a line directed endwise to the eye, it projects only one point in the
fund of the eye ; which point remains invariably the same, whether the
distance be longer or shorter.'

In fact, what we see is, and must be, a single, unvarying point,
as far as our consciousness of it goes, unless it is extended by
being brought out of the line of sight, and placed more or less
laterally. But when it is thus presented, it is no longer distance
outwards, but coloured expanse, the visibility of which was not
disputed. If only one end can be seen of a line extended straight
out from the organ of vision, it follows that distance in that line
is invisible ; because distance requires two points, and in the
supposed case only one point is seen. The invisibility of that
sort of distance can thus be proved even to the Idomenian; and
the physiological phenomena of the retina so far correspond with
this evidence of consciousness — for, it appears on examination
that only one unvarying point is projected there.

In the second place, can distance, that is outness or externality,
be touched! Berkeley's answer to this question is more ambiguous.
Here and there he speaks of distance as if it consisted in what is
tactually perceived, or rather in that experience of locomotive
exertion which contributes to the less exact meaning of the term
' touch.' He also attributes reality exclusively to tactual length,
breadth, and thickness; refusing (for reasons given) to recognise
as real the visible signs of tactual length, breadth, and thickness.
Tangibility or solidity is with him, as with so many, the
phenomenal essence of matter.

"8 'Sew Theory of Vision, sect. 2.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 401

A prcsentative perception of trinal extension in pure tactual
sensation, or in the phenomenon of resistance to locomotive effort,
is, however, contrary to the analogy of his philosophy. Accord-
ing to that analogy, a phenomenon or immediate perception,
whether of sight or of touch, can give no more than the knowledge
that it is itself at once mine and not mine. It gives the vague
knowledge of a voluntary activity external to my own ; not the
knowledge of a permanent, external, sensible thing, projected out
from our bodies in space. This last is reached not in mere seeing,
nor in mere touching either, but after habitual comparison of
what is seen with what is touched ; and a recognition of the former
as being, in the (divinely) established system, invariably related to,
which is the same as to say significant of, the latter.

When Berkeley's language on this subject is liberally inter-
preted, in analogy with his philosophy as a whole, it appears to
affirm that actual outness is neither an object of sight, nor
an object of touch. It is known through a notion and belief,
that is formed by a comparison of certain sensations in visual
experience with certain sensations and exertions in tactual ex-
perience, and a recognition of the former as (according to the
Universal Plan) the invariable sign of the latter. The notion
of distance outwards, invisible and intangible, is, accordingly, not
an impression in sense at all, but a result of Presumptive or Induc-
tive Intelligence. When we seem to imagine trinal space, we no
doubt imagine what is visible, and not what is tangible j but we
imagine the vision in some of its invariable relations to some-
thing else. We imagine it as the type or sign in nature of tactual
and locomotive sensation and exertion. This does not derive
space from mere sensuous impressions, but from sensuous impres-
sions universalized^ and therefore significant, by the Will and
in the Thought of God, their efficient, formal, and final cause.
Thus the vision in sense of the ' choir of heaven and firmament
of earth' suggests an image of the indefinite room there is in
nature for tactual, locomotive, and other sense experience. Direct
perception, whether in sight or in touch, does not yield this
really sublime conception. It is only perception in alliance with
the interpretative reason that does so. Distance outwards is
not an actual sense phenomenon, but the natural and invisible
meaning of visually given phenomena. It is a prevision of what,

VOL. IV. D d

402 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

on the conditions being fulfilled, sense experience is certain to
become. It can be perceived only indirectly, representatively, and
under an implied notion or universal. It supposes a succession of
acts and sensations, and cannot be found in any single sensation
or direct perception. When I seem to see a real thing — a tree or
a mountain — out in space, I xt^W^ foresee a longer or shorter series
of sensations and exertions. Distance or outness itself cannot
exist, either in actual seeing or actual feeling. It exists, and can
exist, only in the same way as furniture exists in a room, when no
finite mind is conscious or percipient of it. A coloured expanse
is seen. A hard object is touched. A distance outward is neither
seen nor touched : it is foreseen. The distance from this to the
sun is not seen: it is not seeable in its very nature: visual
phenomena, which signify a really sublime series of tactual
perceptions and exertions, are in that case seen. The notion of
vast outness is that of signified (but not actual) succession, not
of simultaneous sensible existence. Distance outwards, when I
seem to see it, has, relatively to me, the same sort of existence
that the tangible qualities of a thing have, relatively to me, when
I am only looking at the thing and not touching it; or as this
planet had in the geological period which preceded all conscious
existence on the earth '^9.

The function of association in the discovery of distance de-
serves particular consideration, as it carries us into the deepest
part of the Berkeleian and of all philosophy. At this I venture
next to look.

Berkeleian Intellectual Knoixiledge of Providential or Divine Reality
and of ultimate Universal Conceptions.

How, according to Berkeley, do we discover the external sig-
nification of what we see ? Why do we trust in, and how, in
the last analysis, do we ascertain, the Permanence which gives

^ A yard measure (simultaneously seen) d priori to all sense experience as such,

is a statical sign of distance ; but it The universality and objectivity involved in

is only after trial that one finds this out. Berkeley's extension or space is an arbi-

Kant's preperception of space differs from trary or created universality and objec-

Berkeley's, in recognising it as necessary tivity.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 403

meaning to Visual Language ? The answer brings us very near the
highest link in his own Philosophical Chain.

Some critics have, I think, misconceived him here. They
have made him say that we owe our knowledge of the language
of vision to unintelligible Custom and mere subjective association.
They have made the outgoing of Berkeley's philosophy of sensible
things the same as the outgoing of Hume's philosophy as a whole.
They have confounded the subjective association of ideas — in the
popular meaning of idea — in the individual, with the objective or
universalised association of the phenomena which Berkeley calls
sensations or ideas.

An ' association of ideas' is indeed at the root of this account
of seeing the distant or outward ; but when this is said we must
recollect what is meant by the ' ideas ' that are said to be asso-
ciated, and also to what our trust in the regularity of the
association is attributed. The ideas which are said to be asso-
ciated are the visibly extended and other phenomena of sense,
which, causally, are not ours, being regulated by another cause
than our will. Their 'associations' are attributed, not to the
accidents of custom in our own previous experience, but to the
custom of the Divine activity, if one may say so ; and therefore
to a custom which is Reason itself. The 'association of ideas,'
when ' idea ' means this, presupposes the conception of the
universe being a rational system j it also presupposes faith in the
present and constant rationality which as it were pervades things.
This presupposition is the life and soul of what seems to me to
be the philosophy of sensible things and of Space. The pre-
supposition of this rationality is logically anterior to our treating
sensations or ideas of sight, in the natural system, as invariable
signs of sense phenomena given in touch and muscular exertion.
This presupposition is in fact our constructive principle for the
sensible universe; not any blindly reached consequences among
subjective associations derived from an accidental and unintel-
ligible custom. By Berkeley, however, it must be added, the
presupposition is held more as a religious instinct, and dogmati-
cally, than as a critically reached necessary truth. Berkeley's
' association of ideas' is his religious faith in the constancy of the
Divine constitution of the Cosmos.

D d 2

404 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

But the laws of the subjective association of representative
ideas, which are not sensations, and habit (the blindly generated
result of this association), have also an important place in the
theory of visual language. These do not originate the notion
of sensations as significant, nor our belief in that invariableness of
relation which forms their significance. Yet they help us to
recollect the meaning of each particular sensation, and connect
the signs with their significations in our imagination. An ob-
jective— that is, a universal and invariable — relation of sen-
sations is the basis and the one cohesive principle of the theory :
subjective association among the exwvia of past sensations, in the
individual imagination, is also an important part of the structure.

This last works according to the analogy of association in artifi-
cial language. The divinely established associations, in sensation,
between what we see and what we touch, practically suggest the
tactual meaning when one observes the mere visual signj in the
same manner as in artificial language, we dispense with the
meaning, and substitute the sign, imagining only the sign, while
hardly conscious of the meaning signified '^'^.

The analogy of artificial language further illustrates the cause
of this tendency to think of distances, and in general of ambient
space and its contents, by means of their visible signs alone.
Like many meanings which are ratified and expressed by words,
distances cannot be imagined except in their visible signs. In
the same way as one cannot carry on trains of reasoning without
the help of words, it is hardly possible to conceive distances,
except in and through their language. Those born blind are thus
very inadequately able to conceive space, or trinal extension.
They hardly rise above a dark notion of another cause — another
efficient mind. They have no natural language to symbolise
externality ^^.

^ In what has been called symbolical, in blind, time serves instead of space.' I add

contrast with intuitive, knowledge. the following by a subtle thinker already

^' So Platner's observations on the born more than once referred to : —

blind, quoted by Hamilton. The atten- ' The idea we have of space, and what we

tive observation of a person born blind call by that name, is only colottred space,

convinced Plainer that a man destitute of and is entirely taken out of the mind, if

sight ' has absolutely no perception of an colour be taken away. And so all that we

outer world, beyond the mere existence of call extension, motion, and figure is gone, if

something effective, different from his own colour is gone. As to any idea of space,

feeling of passivity. In fact, to those born extension, distance, or motion, that a man

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 405

Objections to the theory of vision have been directed against
this particular part of it. It is said that the laws of mental asso-
ciations are not fit to form the habit, or to teach us the language
formed by the invariable relations between the visible and the
tangible. Berkeley says that we learn this language — which he re-
ligiously presumes to be latent in the sensation world — by custom
and association, which generate habit; in the same way that we
learn the meanings signified by the words of a new artificial lan-
guage. Some of his critics seem to argue that the language cannot
be learnt by custom and gradual experience at all, but that we
must have a sort of instinctive or inspired knowledge of {he
invariable relations between those sights which are significant of
outness, and the outness which they signify. They thus take away
what, if a real, is a curious and beautiful illustration of the in-
fluence of custom, and of the laws of mental association ; and
they do so on the ground, one supposes, that association can be
proved to be not sufficient to account for the result. For, the
question is, Do we have enough of association between visible
percepts and their tactual meaning, to explain the tendency of
the former to suggest the latter, or to stand as substitutes for the
latter — on the ordinary principles of mental association which are
illustrated in learning and using an artificial language ? I see no
sufficient reason for answering this question in the negative ^2.

The chief difficulty in the way of accounting, by custom and
association, for our seemingly instinctive power of interpreting
the particular signs of distances, is the wonderful speed and

born blind might form, it would be nothing exact and precise, and perfectly stable Idea
like what we call by those names. All that in God's mind, together with his stable
he could have would be only certain sensa- Will, that the same shall gradually be com-
tions or feelings, that in themselves would municated to us, and to other minds, accord-
be no more like what we intend by space, ing to fixed and exact established methods
motion, &c., than the pain we have by the and laws.'— i2««ar*s in Mental Philosophy,
scratch of a pin, or than the ideas of taste by Jonathan Edwards.

and smell. And as to the idea of motion ^^ Berkeley, by the way, even in his ear-
that such a one could have, it would be liest philosophical work, recognises necessity
only a diversification of those successions in in the relations of perspective. When he is
a certain way, by succession as to time .... proving that we do not, by the laws m
And, as it is very plain colour is only in the optics, or by mathematical reasoning, dis-
mind, and nothing like it can be out of all cover outness, he grants that, when expe-
mind, hence it is manifest there can be rience has given us the knowledge of dis-
nothing like those things we call by the tances, we can resolve the perspective lines
name of bo'dies out of the mind, unless it be mathematically, and with a notion of their
in some other mind or minds. And, indeed, necessity. Cf. Essay towards a New Theory
the secret lies here :— That which truly is of Vision, sect. 6.
the substance of all bodies is the infinitely

4o6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

perfection with which the lesson is learnt. All men learn to
interpret the language of vision so early and so well, that it seems
necessary to refer the lesson to an original instinct, which, in
the case of this natural language, so connects the signs with their
meanings, that the born blind, when first made to see, can, it is
presumed, at once render back the sights into their own previous
tactual and locomotive sensations 33. In short, it is plausibly
argued, and from Berkeley's own point of view, that God not
only uses the visual language, but, by the inspiration of an
instinct, teaches each man spontaneously to understand it —
thus enabling him at once, without any inductive comparison, or
even repeated association, of the two correlatives, to read tactual
or locomotive meaning in the visual symbol.

After all, however, the grander conception in the New Theory
is, that sensations are a language ; not that we discover their
meaning, or externalize certain of them, in a particular manner
— by custom and mental association, for instance, rather than
by an original instinct. The associative, as distinguished from
the instinctive, manner of beginning to understand the language
of the phenomena of sense is no doubt maintained by Berkeley.
But his here implied (deeper) doctrine is — that no experience or
association could teach us the language without the presupposition
on our part, that the sensible world Is interpretable. Is the expres-
sion of Divine meanings externalized in its laws -5*.

On what this presupposition, which infuses meaning or univer-
sality into what we see, originally rests, is a profound inquiry,
which carries the inquirer into the heart of the theory of the
inductive interpretation of nature. Is all inference about facts
originally due to custom and subjective association ; or, on the
contrary, do we originally so participate in the archetypal Reason
as to be led to connect in invariable relations phenomena that
are unlike — tactual and visual ones, for instance— and is it thus
that we are enabled to form real (not merely verbal) propositions
about them? Do we gradually learn nature's language, through
blind processes of internal association; or, are the initial steps

^ Contrary to Molyneux's solution of his to contradict this. But, on the nature of

own problem. See Locke, Essay, Bk. II. ' instinct,' cf. a pregnant passage in Siris,

ch. 9. sect. 257.

^* The case of the lower animals is said

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 407

the result, not of merely associative laws, but of a sort of inborn
instinct, through which we in a sort share in the Divine Reason?
Perhaps the most important subject in all philosophical inquiry is
the real action of the human mind in induction -^"^^ and the reason
of the certainty we attach to the process of discovering truth.
Now, it is ' in the writings of Berkeley,' as Archer Butler remarks,
'that we are to look for the first exposition of those acute and
important reasonings which may be said in these latter days to
have reduced the broad practical monitions of Lord Bacon to their
metaphysical principles. * * The clue which must be followed,
if we will penetrate the mazes of hidden truth, is interwoven in
the very texture of his philosophy j on every other system we may
go astray in our pursuit of natural knowledge — it is almost im-
possible to go astray on his. Without affirming anything with
regard to the absolute truth of his ultimate deductions, we do
maintain that this relative merit — and what merit is more ad-
mirable ? — must at least be conceded to the philosophy of Berkeley.
The true logic of Fhysics is the first conclusion from his system^^'

The invariableness of the successions and co-existences of
sensations is what, according to Berkeley, developes space, and
makes sensations a language; and an arbitrarily established in-
variableness is, he means to say, the only sort of causal relation
that can exist among the phenomena in sense. Causality in the
material world is, accordingly, neither more nor lest than re-
gularity of succession. There is no efficiency within the vast
organization of sensible things. One sort of sensible pheno-
menon is, as an established fact, the constant companion of
another sort of sensible phenomenon j and this is only other-
wise expressed when it is said that the one is the sign of the
other. Thus, all the so-called causality of the material world
resolves into an established significance of physical facts. This

3'' All metaphysical philosophy even may rise so high as this. It is a struggle to iden-

be regarded as of the nature of induction, tify our generalized and tentative concep-

when induction is comprehensively con- tions with the constitutive thoughts of God

ceived. What are the successive philoso- that are involved in physical law. Inductive

phical systems but attempts to find what logic consists of methods for harmonising

that ultimate Conception is which admits of human thoughts with the thoughts that are

verification by the facts of experience, and expressed in nature — commonly called laws

which renders these facts ultimately or of nature.

metaphysically intelligible and reasoned ? ^ Duhliii University Magazine, vol. VII.

Ordinary experimental induction does not pp. 538, 539.

4o8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

Berkeley refuses to regard as proper causality. The philosophical
craving for a cause is a necessary principle which, he would say,
carries us beyond sensations altogether, for the explanation of
that sense symbolism in which materialists suppose they have the
only true causality or power. An inert, unintelligent cause is for
him no cause, but a contradiction in terms. Mind is the only
possible power, and the established coherences of sensible pheno-
mena, as well as each separate sensation, are all manifestations
and effects of Supreme Universalizing Mind.

This resolution of physical causality into bare invariableness of
co-existence and succession is now a familiar analysis, in the
modern account of the objects and limits of all purely physical in-
quiry. It is in the centre of the physical philosophy of Hume, and
has flowed from thence into the Baconian stream, purifying the
waters. ' If,' says Hume, ' we reason a priori^ anything may appear
able to produce anything. The falling of a pebble may, for aught
we know, extinguish the sun; or the wish of a man control the
planets in their orbits-^".' This is Berkeley's meaning, in other
language — so far as sensations and natural causes are concerned ;
for these are merely passive, and are connected with their so-called
effects without any intention or effort of their own ; and without
any uncreated necessity in the nature of things, since their rela-
tions with one another may be imagined by us to be quite different
from what they actually are. Hume and Berkeley are at one in
regard to the connexions among physical things, and also among
the phenomena of which they are composed, being unnecessitated,
and discoverable only by observation and experiment.

But they differ in this: —

The established relations of the unnecessitated universe of sen-
sations, or physical phenomena, are, Hume would say, the one and
only causality that exists : it is absurd to inquire ixshy these in-
variable relations are thus invariable : we must take them as
an absolutely unintelligible Custom has given them ; and we must,
above all, include what we call ourselves and our own volitions

" J?ssa>s, vol. II. p. i66, 'On the Aca- recognition of abstract and necessary rea-

demical and Sceptical Philosophy.' Hume, soiling concerning quantity and number. See

by the way, often approaches Kant in what sects. 4 and I 3 of his Inquiry, and the Trea-

he says about relations of ideas, as distin- tise 0/ Human Nature. This is well put in

guished from matters 0/ fact; and in his Stirling's Secret of Hegel, vol. II. p. 15.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 409

as a portion of that physical system which is co-extensive with
and constitutes all that exists.

The established relations of the unnecessitated universe of phy-
sical phenomena, Berkeley would say, on the contrary, are not
causal relations at all : there is no causality within this sense
symbolism, taken per se. Yet there not only is, but there must be,
he would add, something more than this, to account for even this :
the established coherence of the universe, as well as the units
coherently connected, are necessarily^^ dependent upon acting and
intending Intelligence. Causality, he implies, is a necessary
relation : it is exemplified, however, not in the blind customary
interrelations of sensible phenomena, but in the dependence of the
phenomena, and their relations or customs too, upon Mind, by
whose design and constant acting they are all maintained '^5. The
causal judgment is, with Berkeley, a necessary judgment ; but it
does not mean (as with Kant, for instance) necessary succession
among phenomena. It means the necessary dependence of the
constant customs of succession and co-existence among pheno-
mena upon Supreme Rational Will. The necessity for a cause is,
in other words, the necessity for Deity — for the Divine Reason
in which human reason participates, and in which philosophical
curiosity is satisfied.

Their respective notions of causality might be made the testing
point in a critical comparison of the three great philosophies and
philosophical thinkers of the eighteenth century — Berkeley, Hume,
and Kant. Hume, as we know, first awoke Kant out of his 'dog-
matic slumber,' and was the indirect occasion of that analysis of
the constitutive notions of the understanding, and regulative ideas
of reason, and of that announcement of the moral presumption
in favour of human freedom, human immortality, and the ex-
istence of God, which flow from the speculative and practical
criticism of Kant.

^' I say 'necessarily,' for Berkeley, though only (which we have no right to do)

he always looks at power in the concrete an event caused by the immediate orderly

facts, virtually treats his causal assumption activity of God. The 'nee Deus intersit'

as a necessary principle of intelligence. In is pressed as an objection to the Ber-

fact Causality is the category (so to speak) keleian sense symbolism by Hamilton, in a

by means of which he explains externality, letter to Mr. CoUyns Simon, the eminent

and the permanence or reality of the rela- author of Universal Imma/erialism. See

tions which constitute sensible things. the correspondence in Professor Veitch's ex-

33 The sensible universe is, with Berkeley, cellent Memoir of Sir W. Hamilton, pp.

a constant miracle, if we mean by a miracle 344—49.

4IO Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cii.

Attention to the respective positions of the three, in the con-
catenation of modern thought, makes Berkeley's function more
distinct.

The Universe {to nav), and not merely the sense-given part
of it, according to Hume, is entirely composed of phenomena,
or what he calls ' impressions,' — conscious human beings in-
cluded. The experience of all men has given these phenomena
in hitherto invariable relations, which can be analysed into those
of co-existence and succession. This fact has blindly produced
an expectation that they will continue to succeed one another
in a similar invariable order. Their customs of succession and
co-existence have produced a habit of expectation — a sort of
spurious necessity, which makes us look for some preceding
phenomenon as the virtually necessary condition of each new
phenomenon ^". Custom thus forms in us the craving for some
phenomenon preceding, on occasion of any new event hap-
pening. Custom hinders us from being satisfied with the bare
fact of — something happening. And, in so hindering us, it
serves, according to Humism and Positivism, a useful prac-
tical purpose. We seem to be part of a universe of phenomena
which are, at least in the meantime, if not absolutely or uni-
versally, connected in orderly relations to one another ; present
happiness is, accordingly, dependent on knowing what these or-
derly relations have been. It seems well for our happiness, that
the past custom of the universe has tended to form this habit of
expectation — this spurious necessity for expecting what we call
' effects,' and for assuming what we call ' causes.' It is impos-
sible, on this philosophy of ultimately unintelligible pan-phenome-
nalism, to find any explanation of luhy we find ourselves units in a
universe of this sort j nor indeed have we any right to apply our
custom-generated craving for causes so far as this. The human
nature of Hume is too slight and shallow for this deep inquiry.
The fact that the phenomenal universe has been coherent is a
'singular' sort of effect, if it is to be called an effect at all, this

^'' Of course, under Hume's philosophy nature, or the existence of Supreme Mind —

there can be no absolute necessity for or at the most there is only the blindly gene-

against anything — for or against the con- rated, spurious necessity of unintelligible

tinuance or an interruption of the laws of custom.

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 4 1 1

philosophy says : it transcends those customary connexions in the
past which have produced our habit of putting scientific questions :
this apparent custom of orderly and invariable connectedness
practically justifies our present reliance on it — for all secular
affairs, and in physical science. But we must not try to become
metaphysical, by asking why the relations of phenomena have
been what they have been, and what in consequence we expect
them still to be. We must take them as they have been, and
yield to the habit which this past has formed. A priori^ no one
phenomenon is more rationally related to another than any third
one might be. Anything appears able to produce anything. And
to ask why Nature possesses the coherence and consistency which
we act upon is an absurd question — especially for one of the
phenomena themselves to put. Let us, for practical purposes,
make the supposition which the habit due to a mysterious Custom
has induced. Let us exhaust, if we can, the resources for happi-
ness which seem to open to us when we proceed to deal with things
upon this ultimately unintelligible assumption. To do this is the
sum of human duty. Supernatural questions about the origin,
ultimate meaning, and eternal issues of this present Phenomenal
Custom, lead, as far as philosophy is concerned, only to sophistry
and illusion. Such is the issue of the Humist and Positivist
analysis of Existence — not merely of sensible existence, to which
Berkeley confined himself. This is Scepticism taking revenge
upon the Berkeleian paralysis of Materialism and Fatalism. Being
or Existence is professedly emptied, under it, of all proper sub-
stance and power.

The negative philosophical conception which constitutes the
Humist and Positivist conception of the universe is said to satisfy
some. Probably Berkeley's simple, ardent, and believing spirit
had not enough of the (valuable) preparatory mental discipline of
Scepticism to enable him to enter into it. He lived before
Hume. Otherwise his philosophical life and its results might
have run deeper, and his philosophy might not so readily have
seemed (as it has to some of his critics) to resolve itself into
this: — that the entire Universe consists of me and my Internal
sensations. His philosophy might then have contained a more
thorough and distinct unfolding of the principles of rationality
which connect the Infinite Whole of concrete existence with 'me'

412 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

and 'my' sensations, principles in which originate the permanence
or objectivity of which sensations in themselves are destitute.

Kant tried to go deeper than Hume, in order to restore know-
ledge and belief on the basis, not of transient feeling, but of
thought and necessary universality. Sensations and their cus-
toms— productive of a useful human habit of expectation — the
expectation, in the circumstances, as reasonable as man is fit
for — this, I think, is, on the whole, Hume's account of our
knowledge and of existence. But this does not correspond, in
Kant's insight, to the very experience which it pretends to
give the last account of. There is an element of genuine ne-
cessity and universality wrapped up within experience, which
Humism makes away with. In this omitted element Kant
finds the explanation of externality and science. Without this
omitted universality and necessity he can see no objectivity to
be possible: science dissolves into isolated sensations: it becomes
shifting feeling. Objectivity requires an intellectual or necessary
element, even in our very sense experience ; and this Hume had
overlooked. Accordingly, the chief work of Kant's life was to
explain the coherency of the sensible universe — and man's moral
freedom from nature — by this neglected element. A scholasti-
cally elaborated substitution of intellectual instead of customary
coherence in experience is Kant's contribution in the reactionary
succession to Hume. Kant's experience, like Hume's and Ber-
keley's, takes phenomena or sensations for its matter ; yet its form
or coherence is derived not from mere Custom — which is another
name for the darkness of ignorance — but from universal notions
of Understanding. Experience is thus professedly analysed into
meaning^ instead of being thrown back upon the unintelligible. It
is intellectually impossible, according to this critical philosophy,
for any experience at all to exist in which there are no universal-
izing principles of connexion. We find proof that this is so when
wc make the trial. We find, for instance, that changing sensations
cannot conceivably become the experience we are conscious of
unless they are referred to a principle of permanence called Sub-
stance j and we also find that changes of any sort cannot, in like
manner, become part of our experience, except as they are conceived
to be dependent on preceding conditions, discoverable by subse-

X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 413

quent experience, which conditions we call their Cause. This
sort of substantiality and causality, which is too abstract for
Berkeley, is thus held to be necessary to the possibility of any
mental experience, and not to be blindly formed by the customs
of each man's particular experience in an inexplicable mortal life.
Later German philosophy goes on to show why these (and other)
intellectual conditions must be involved in all possible experience,
forming the Divine, Absolute, Uncreated Essence of the universe
in which, as intellectual beings, we participate. With Plato too,
in a long past age, the Universal was the only reality, and the
particular phenomenon was real only by participation in the Uni-
versal— by its relation to Intelligence. Berkeley came very much
to this in the end, in Siris ■, but in his early philosophy his war
against abstract ideas (i. e. abstract physical phenomena) — in which
sometimes his words seem almost to make the phenomenon the
only reality, and not merely the only physical reality — and his ten-
dency to test everything by sensations or matters of fact, keeps in
the background those Universals, or Notions of the Mind, that —

' immutably survive,
For our support, the measures and the forms
Which an abstract intelligence supplies;
Whose kingdom is, where time and space are not.'

It was the dependence of external existence upon Sensation, rather
than the dependence of all particular existence upon the Uni-
versalising Intelligence, that he at first chiefly insisted on.

It is more difficult, indeed almost impossible, to compare the
concrete spiritual philosophy of Berkeley with the very different
point of view which later German philosophy occupies. His
Theological or Universal ised Sensationalism is even opposite to
the Subjective Idealism of Fichte. German speculation, in Kant
and in Hegel, in reasoning out what Berkeley left vague, has
forsaken his concrete and practical idealism. Grant that it has
discovered an intellectually coherent experience, instead of Hume's
habit of expectation blindly generated by custom. In doing so, it
has given the Uncreated Conditions to which all actual or con-
scious experience (if there happens to be any) must conform,
and under which it must all be intelligibly concatenated. But
why does the concrete phenomenal world, which is connected or
made coherent by these pervading relations, start into phenomenal

414 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch.

existence at all; and why do we begin to exist as persons who
are percipient of it ? What set the movement a-going, which
is constituted by these uncreated necessary relations ; and what
now keeps it going ?

The Hegelian might perhaps answer, This is asking what set
God a-going, and what keeps Him in active thought. The intel-
lectual necessities of Being constitute His essence, and that of
Nature and of the Spirits which participate in Being. But it
may still be asked, What of the contingencies in existence ? Why
are sensible things composed of five kinds of sensation rather
than of five hundred; and why am I myself.^ and not some other
person, or absorbed in the Supreme Unity ? The philosophy which
critically unfolds the web of necessary thought — the complexus of
Reason — even if it successfully unravels that web, and enables us
to see the universe necessarily coherent in Its coherency, still
leaves unsettled the most interesting questions which the universe
presses upon us, when the universe is looked at from the human
and practical (which was Berkeley's) point of view — the moral
existence of God, combined with the immortality of men. What
more does it determine about the answers to the last than Ber-
keley's reductio ad absurdum of Abstract Matter does, or even than
Hume's mysterious Custom ? Kant's criticism of pure under-
standing thrown in among the impressions' of Hume, merely
gives them intellectual coherence.

Berkeley's philosophy is more immediately human than this,
if far less intellectually thorough. It combines throughout what
Kant severed from the beginning. The moral presumption of
our individual free and proper agency is obscurely involved in
Berkeley's philosophy of Sense from the first : without it his whole
philosophy would dissolve in subjective sensationalism. In the
dualism to which he leads, we are aware even in sensation that
sensation is not subject to us, and that we are not subject to it.
The sensations or phenomena which we perceive are discerned to
be ours, because they need our sense-percipiency ; and not ours,
for we are not their cause, nor responsible for their existence, as
we are for our own actions, which we create. Sensations are
outside the circle of our personal responsibility. The antithesis
of sensibility and moral agency, which we find in Kant at last,
runs, in an indistinct and fluctuating way, through Berkeley from

X.] PJiilosophy of Berkeley. 4 1 5

the beginning. He in his own way combines the sensibility
and the free-will of Kant — the ' matter ' given to his specula-
tive reason, and the moral presumption of his practical reason.
Perception in Berkeley thus uncritically envelopes the two ex-
treme parts of Kantianism — the Sensibility, and the Practical
Reason. Kant's intermediate theory of constitutive notions of
the understanding, and regulative ideas of reason is also roughly
represented ^^ in Berkeley's early theological sensationalism, and
still more in his contrast, in Sirh^ between mere Sense and
Reason. The Kantian, or later German, theory of place being
a perception, necessarily implied in, and explanatory of, the
externality of sensible things is, however, foreign to Berkeley,
with whom ' ambient space ' is as much created and dependent,
and involved in the flux of sensations, as the sensible world itself j
— for which world, indeed, space is merely a general expression.
The reader may work out the comparison in detail — recollecting
that Berkeley's philosophy is not ' critical ' in its execution,
or in its original conception. But it will yet clear itself from
misconceptions, and its author will take his place as the most
subtle thinker of the eighteenth century.

Siris was the philosophical production of Berkeley's old age.
But he was really all his life constructing a philosophical chain
which connects the phenomena of which we are conscious with
the Reality of Supreme Mind. In his argumentative youth, as
well as in his contemplative old age, he was showing how the
familiar perceptions of our daily life in the five senses are found
by reflection to involve the deepest human problems — awakening
the dormant intuition, that we are living, and moving, and
having our being in Mind. With all this, it may be allowed
that, though he unfolds his thought, and defends it against ob-
jections, with singular acuteness and ingenuity, the philosophy
wants in his hands the sublimity and strength which we have
in the productions of Plato, and in some moderns. To the
Teutonic intellect, his life-long exposition of his thought probably

" In concrete fashion — for in Berkeley, formal attempt either, by means of abstract
I repeat, there is no critically ascertained notions, to make the living concrete ex-
abstract necessity for causal connectedness, perience we have more certain than it is.
or substantial permanence, for instance — no

41 6 Life and Letters of Berkeley.

seems wanting in penetration and thoroughness. He answers,
with much adroitness, indeed, the common objections to his own
account of what the material world and its causation mean;
but it may be granted that one occasionally feels in inter-
course with him a want of the intellectual momentum needed
for carrying a great philosophical conception into the heart of
the world's thinking. We are sometimes apt to be more amused
by the dextrous defence, than to have our convictions profoundly
influenced. But we must not forget the modesty of his intention.
'I had no inclination,' he says in one of his letters to Johnson,
'to trouble the world with large volumes. What I have done
was rather with the view of giving hints to thinking men, who
have leisure and curiosity to go to the bottom of things, and
pursue them in their own minds.'

Perhaps what some may feel to be least satisfying in Berkeley's
Theism is, its too exclusive reference to our sense experience,
instead of to our moral experience — an inclination to gratify the
vulgar demand for a visible God, with the background of mystery
withdrawn, instead of the moral reserve of the Deus abscond'ttus
of Pascal, or the awful categorical imperative of Kant. An in-
tellectual solution of the whole problem of Existence has hitherto,
I suppose, evaded the intelligence of the race of man. We still
need to be told that we ought to live the absolutely good, even
although we may not reach the perfect philosophical conception
of the Universe, and of our own destiny in it. But of the various
imperfect thoughts about our mysterious life, that of Berkeley —
wrapped up in his conception of the material world — seems to
me, when truly understood, to be among the simplest and most
beautiful in the history of philosophy.

WRITINGS

BISHOP BERKELEY

HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED:
METAPHYSICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE,

WITH SERMONS, SKELETONS OF SERMONS, AND AN
EPISCOPAL CHARGE.

VOL. IV. E e

[COMMONPLACE BOOK

OCCASIONAL METAPHYSICAL THOUGHTS'.]

I. = Introduction.

M. = Matter.

P. = Primary and Secondary qualities.

E. = Existence.

T. = Time.

S. = Soul — Spirit.

G. = God.

Mo.= Moral Philosophy,

N. = Natural Philosophy.

Qu. if there be not two kinds of visible extension — one per-
ceived by a confus'd view, the other by a distinct successive
direction of the optique axis to each point ?

* This Metaphysical Commonplace Book,
as I have called it, is a small quarto volume,
in Berkeley's handwriting, in which he seems
to have set down, often as if for further
private consideration, stray thoughts which
occurred to him in the course of his mathe-
matical and metaphysical studies at Trinity
College, Dublin. These common-places seem
to have been formed gradually, apparently in
1705 and some following years. On the
first page is written ' G. B. Coll. Trin. Dub.
alum.' There is little method in the ar-
rangement, though a progress in something
like chronological order may, perhaps, be
traced in some parts. Considerable por-
tions imply that he was at the time maturing
his thoughts with a view to the publi-
cation of the Essay on Vision, and the
Principles of Human Knowledge ; but the
form which the projected work (or works)
was to take does not appear to have
been finally settled in his mind. Several

passages refer to the Introduction to the
Principles.

The Commonplace Book contains many
references to Locke's Essay, as well as to
the metaphysical and other works of Des
Cartes, the first Book of the Recherche of
Malebranche, and various parts of the writ-
ings of Hobbes ; also Newton and contem-
porary authorities in mathematics and natural
philosophy.

The original manuscript is followed
throughout, except the omission of some of
the repetitions of identical thought in the
same, or almost the same, words. Here and
there the writing is nearly obliterated, appa-
rently by the action of water.

The letters I, M, P, &c. prefixed to some
of the queries and other thoughts, are ex-
plained above.

I have added a few annotations as they hap-
pened to occur. These might have been multi-
plied indefinitely, had space allowed. — A.C.F.

E e 2

420 Commonplace Book.

I. No general ideas — the contrary a cause of mistake or confusion

in mathematiques, &:c. This to be intimated in y^ Introduc-
tion 2.

The Principle may be applyM to the difficulties of conservation,
co-operation, &c.
N. Trifling for the philosophers to enquire the cause of magnetical

attractions, &c. They onely search after co-existing ideas.
M. Qusecunque in Scriptura militant adversus Copernicum, militant
"• pro me.

M. AH things in the Scripture w'^^ side with the vulgar against
"• the learned, side with me also. I side in all things with the mob.
I know there is a mighty sect of men will oppose me, but yet I
may expect to be supported by those whose minds are not so far
overgrown wth madness. These are far the greatest part of
mankind — especially Moralists, Divines, Politicians; in a word,
all but Mathematicians and Natural Philosophers (I mean only
the hypothetical gentlemen). Experimental philosophers-^ have
nothing whereat to be offended in me.

Newton begs his principles; I demonstrate mine.
M. I must be very particular in explaining w* is meant by things
E- existing — in houses, chambers, fields, caves, &c. — w" not per-
ceiv'd as well as w"* perceived, and shew how the vulgar notion
agrees with mine, when we narrowly inspect into the meaning
and definition of the word Existence, w^ is no simple idea dis-
tinct from perceiving and being perceived'*.

The Schoolmen have noble subjects, but handle them ill. The
mathematicians have trifling subjects, but reason admirably about
them. Certainly their method and arguing are excellent.

God knows how far our knowledge of intellectual beings may be
enlarg'd from the Principles.

The reverse of the Principle I take to have been the chief source
of ail that scepticism and folly, all those contradictions and in-
extricable puz2,ling absurdities, that have in all ages been a reproach
to human reason, as well as of that idolatry, whether of images or

^ Cf. Introduction to the Principles of explained. See also Siris, sect. 231—264.
Human Knowledge, sect. 6— 17 ; also vol. I. * He attempts this in many parts of the

of the Wor^s— Appendix A. Principles znd the Dialogues. The difficulty

Cf. Principles, sect. 60—66, 1 01 — 117, of reconciling the Berkeleian Principle with

where the important office of experimental the assumed subslance or permanence of

research, under the Berkeleian conception of sensible things is one of the chief difficulties

the material world, and physical causation, is for those beginning to realise it.

Commonplace Book. 421

of gold, &c., that blinds the greatest part of the world, as well as
that shamefull immorality that turns us into beasts.

n^n Vixit & fuit.

oyo-ta, the name for substance used by Aristotle, the Fathers, &c.

If at the same time we shall make the mathematiques much
more easie and much more accurate, w*- can be objected to us^ ?

We need not force our imagination to conceive such very
small lines for .infinitesimals. They may every whit as well be
imagin'd big as little, since that the integer must be infinite.

Evident that wch has an infinite number of parts must be
infinite.

We cannot imagine a line or space infinitely great — therefore
absurd to talk or make propositions about it.

We cannot imagine a line, space, &c., quovis lato majus. Since
y* what we imagine must be datum aliquod, a thing can't be
greater than itself.

If you call infinite that W^ is greater than any assignable by
another, then I say, in that sense there may be an infinite square,
sphere, or any other figure, wc^ is absurd.

Qu. if extension be resoluble into points it does not con-
sist of?

No reasoning about things whereof we have no ideas ^, therefore
no reasoning about infinitesimals.

No word to be used without an idea''.

S. If uneasiness be necessary to set the Will at work, Qu. how

shall we will in heaven ?

Bayle's, Malbranch's, &c. arguments do not seem to prove
against Space, but onely against Bodies.
M. I agree in nothing wth the Cartesians as to ye existence of
P. Bodies & Qualities.

Aristotle as good a man as Euclid, but he was allowed to have
been mistaken.

Lines not proper for demonstration.

^ He naturally contemplated thus early the '^ Idea, with Berkeley, means what we are

application of his New Principle to Mathe- conscious of, either in sense-perception or in

matics — concerned as they are with Quantity, imagination.

Space, Number, &c.; but he seems to overlook ' But cf. Alciphron, Dial. VII. 8 — 17;

some of the conditions of its applicability. also Introduction to Principles.

42 2 Co77i77io7iplace Book.

M. We see the house itself, the church itself; it being an idea,

and nothing more. The house itself, the church itself, is an idea,

i. e. object, immediate object, of thought*.

Instead of injuring, our doctrine much benefits geometry.
E. Existence is percipi, or percipere, [or velle, i.e. agere^]. The

horse is in the stable, the books are in the study as before.
N. In physiques I have a vast view of things soluble hereby, but

have not leisure.
N. Hyps and such like unaccountable things confirm my doctrine.
Angle not well defined. See Pardies' Geometry, by Harris, &c.

This one ground of trifling.

One idea not the cause of another — one power not the cause of

another. The cause of all natural things is onely God. Hence

trifling to enquire after second causes^". This doctrine gives a

most suitable idea of the Divinity.
N. Absurd to study astronomy and other the like doctrines as

speculative sciences.
N. The absurd account of memory by the brain, &c. makes for me.
How was light created before man ? Even so were Bodies created

before man^^
E. Impossible anything besides that W^ thinks and is thought on

should exist i^.

That w^^i" is visible cannot be made up of invisible things.

M. S. is that wherein there are not contain'd distinguishable
sensible parts. Now how can that w-^^^ hath not sensible parts
be divided into sensible parts ? If you say it may be divided into
insensible paits, I say these are nothings.

Extension abstract from sensible qualities is no sensation, I
grant j but then there is no such idea, as any one may tryi^. There

^ But a ' house' or a ' church' includes while I am looking at it.

more than visible ideas, so that we cannot '- Separate inexistence in perception is

be said to see it. Cf Life and Letters, ch. X. one phase of the Dualism of Berkeley : the

" This is added in the margin— an im- other and deeper form of it emerges from
portant addition, which at last resolves the our personal or voluntary acting, in anti-
philosophy of Berkeley into a philosophy of thesis to what is externarto its sphere. Cf.
^^"/^Vr°°,: T, , , Collier's doctrine of inexistence, given in

With Berkeley are no phenomenal Berkeley's Works, vol. I —Appendix B
'second causes'— only natural signs, which » Be'rkeley hardly distinguishes the'dis-
physical science interprets. cemment of uncreated mathematical forms
This refers to a vulgar objection to or relations (to which the sensible ideas or
Berkeley, now supposed to be reinforced by phenomena in which the relation-; are con-
recent discoveries m geology. If these con- cretely manifested must conform) from the
tradict It, so does the existence of a table sensations, ideas, or phenomena themselves.

Commonplace Book. 423

is onely a considering the number of points without the sort of
them, & this makes more for me, since it must be in a con-
sidering thing.

Mem. Before I have shewn the distinction between visible &
tangible extension, I must not mention them as distinct. I must
not mention M. T. & M. V., but in general M. S., ^cM

Qu. whether a M. V. be of any colour ? a M. T. of any tangible
quality ?

If visible extension be the object of geometry, 'tis that which is
surveyed by the optique axis.

I may say the pain is in my finger, &c., according to my
doctrine ^'5.

Mem. Nicely to discuss wt is meant when we say a line con-
sists of a certain number of inches or points, &c. — a circle of a
certain number of square inches, points, dec. Certainly we may
think of a circle, or have its idea in our mind, without thinking of
points or square inches, &c., whereas it should seem the idea of a
circle is not made up of the ideas of points, square inches, &c.

Qu. Is any more than this meant by the foregoing expressions,
viz. that squares or points may be perceived in or made out of a
circle, &c., or that squares, points, &c. are actually in it, i. e. are
perceivable in it ?

A line in abstract, or distance, is the number of points between
two points. There is also distance between a slave & an
emperor, between a peasant & philosopher, between a drachm
& a pound, a farthing & a crown, &c. j in all which distance
signifies the number of intermediate ideas.

Halley's doctrine about the proportion between infinitely great
quantities vanishes. When men speak of infinite quantities,
either they mean finite quantities, or else talk of [that whereof
they have ^^J no idea ; both which are absurd.

If the disputations of the Schoolmen are blam'd for intricacy,
triflingness, & confusion, yet it must be acknowledg'd that in
the main they treated of great & important subjects. If we

'* M. T. = matter tangible; M.V. = '« [That need not have been blotted out-
matter visible; M.S. = matter sensible. 'tis good sense if we do but determine w'

1' Which the common doctrine of Primary we mean by thing and idea.] — Author.
Qualities as usually explained, hardly allows.

424 Commonplace Book.

admire the method & acuteness of the math [ematicians] — the
length, the subtilty, the exactness of their demonstrations — we
must nevertheless be forced to grant that they are for the most
part about trifling subjects, and perhaps nothing at all.
Motion on 2d thoughts seems to be a simple idea.

P. Motion distinct from y^ thing moved is not conceivable.

N. Mem. To take notice of Newton for defining it [motion] j
also of Locke's wisdom in leaving it undefin'd^'^.

Ut ordo partium temporis est immutabilis, sin etiam ordo par-
tium spatii. Moveantur hae de locis suis, et movebuntur (ut ita
dicam) de seipsis. Truly number is immensurable — that we will
allow with Newton.

P' Ask a Cartesian whether he is wont to imagine his globules
without colour. Pellucidness is a colour. The colour of ordinary
light of the sun is white. Newton in the right in assigning colours
to the rays of light.

A man born blind would not imagine space as we do. We give
it always some dilute, or duskish, or dark colour — in short, we
imagine it as visible or intromitted by the eye, w*^*' he would
not do.

N. Proinde vim infeiunt sacris iiteris qui voces hasce (v. tempus,
spatium, motus) de quantitatibus mensuratis ibi interpretantur.
Newton, p. 10.

N. I differ from Newton, in that I think the recession ab axe

motus is not the effect, or index, or measure of motion, but of the

vis impressa. It sheweth not w^ is truly moved, but w* has the

force impressed on it, or rather that w'^i^ hath an impressed force.

Z> and P are not proportional in all circles. d d\s\.o\dp as d

P P

to -; but d and - are not in the same proportion in all circles.

Hence 'tis nonsense to seek the terms of one general proportion
whereby to rectify all peripheries, or of another whereby to square
all circles.

N.B. If the circle be squai'd arithmetically, 'tis squar'd geo-
metrically, arithmetic or numbers being nothing but lines & pro-
portions of lines when apply'd to geometry.

" See Locke's Essay, Bk. III. ch. 4, § 8, pies of attempts to define motion — involving
where he offers ancient and modern exam- fetiiio principii.

Commonplace Book. 425

Mem. To remark Cheyne^^ & his doctrine of infinites.

Extension, motion, time, do each of them include the idea of
succession, & so far forth they seem to be of mathematical con-
sideration. Number consisting in succession & distinct percep-
tion, w"^ also consists in succession j for things at once perceiv'd
are jumbled and mixt together in the mind. Time and motion can-
not be conceiv'd without succession, & extension, qua mathemat.,
cannot be conceiv'd but as consisting of parts W^^ may be dis-
tinctly & successively perceiv'd. Extension perceived at once
& in confuso does not belong to math.

The simple idea call'd Power seems obscure, or rather none at
all, but onely the relation 'twixt Cause and Effect. When I ask
whether A can move B, if A be an intelligent thing, I mean no
more than whether the volition of A that B move be attended
with the motion of B ? If A be senseless, whether the impulse of
A against B be followed by ye motion of B^^?

Barrow's arguing against indivisibles, lect. i. p. \6j is a petitio
principii^ for the Demonstration of Archimedes supposeth the
circumference to consist of more than 24 points. Moreover it
may perhaps be necessary to suppose the divisibility ad infinitum^
in order to demonstrate that the radius is equal to the side of the
hexagon.

Shew me an argument against indivisibles that does not go on
some false supposition.

- A great number of insensibles — or thus, two invisibles, say,
you put together become visible, therefore that M. V. contains or
is made up of invisibles. I answer, the M.V. does not comprise,
is not composed of invisibles. All the matter amounts to this, viz.
whereas I had no idea awhile agoe, I have an idea now. It
remains for you to prove that I came by the present idea because
there were two invisibles added together. I say the invisibles
are nothings, cannot exist, include a contradiction 2°.

'* George Cheyne, the physician (known '^ This anticipates Hume,

afterwards as author of the £ra^Z/s/& Ma/atfy), ^^ This is Berkeley's reasoning against

published in 1705 a work on Fluxions, abstract or insensible quantities, and infi-

which procured him admission to the Royal nitesimals — important in the sequel.
Society. He was born in 1 670.

426 Commojtplace Book.

I am young, I am an upstart, I am a pretender, I am vain.
Very well. I shall endeavour patiently to bear up under the most
lessening, vilifying appellations the pride & rage of man can
devise. But one thing I know I am not guilty of. I do not pin
my faith on the sleeve of any great man. I act not out of pre-
judice or prepossession. I do not adhere to any opinion because
it is an old one, a revivM one, a fashionable one, or one that
I have spent much time in the s^udy and cultivation of.

Sense rather than reason or demonstration ought to be em-
ployed about lines and figures, these being things sensible j for as
for those you call insensible, we have proved them to be nonsense,
nothing.
I. If in some things I differ from a philosopher I profess to admire,

'tis for that very thing on account whereof I admire him, namely,
the love of truth. This &c.
I. Whenever my reader finds me talk very positively, I desire he'd

not take it ill. I see no reason why certainty should be confined
to the mathematicians.

I say there are no incommensurables, no surds. I say the side
of any square may be assign'd in numbers. Say you assign unto
me the side of the square 10. I ask w* 10 — 10 feet, inches, &c.,
or 10 points ? If the later, I deny there is any such square, 'tis
impossible 10 points should compose a square. If the former,
resolve y'' 10 square inches, feet. Sec. into points, & the number
of points must necessarily be a square number whose side is easily
assignable,

A mean proportional cannot be found betwixt any two given
lines. It can onely be found betwixt those the numbers of whose
points multiply'd together produce a square number. Thus betwixt
a line of 2 inches & a line of 5 inches a mean geometrical
cannot be found, except the number of points contained in 2
inches multiply'd by ye number of points contained in 5 inches
make a square number ^^

If the wit and industry of the Nihilarians were employ'd about
the useful 1 & practical mathematiques, what advantage had it
brought to mankind !

M. You ask me whether the books are in the study now, when no
E.

^^ To statements here and elsewhere mathematicians might not unreasonably take ex-
ception.

Commonplace Book. 427

one is there to see them ? I answer, Yes. You ask me, Are we
not in the wrong for imagining things to exist when they are
not actually perceiv'd by the senses ? I answer. No. The exist-
ence of our ideas consists in being perceiv'd, imagin'd, thought on.
Whenever they are imagin'd or thought on they do exist. Whenever
they are mentioned or discours'd of they are imagin'd & thought
on. Therefore you can at no time ask me whether they exist or
no, but by reason of y' very question they must necessarily exist.

But, say you, then a chimsera does exist ? I answer, it doth in
one sense, i.e. it is imagin'd. But it must be well noted that exist-
ence is vulgarly restrain'd to actuall perception, and that I use
the word existence in a larger sense than ordinary 22.

N.B. — According to my doctrine all things are entia rationis^
i. e. Solum habent esse in intellectum.

[23 According to my doctrine all are not ent'ta rationis. The
distinction between ens rationis and ens reale is kept up by it
as well as any other doctrine.]

You ask me whether there can be an infinite idea ? I answer,
in one sense there may. Thus the visual sphere, tho' ever so small,
is infinite, i. e. has no end. But if by infinite you mean an extension
consisting of innumerable points, then I ask y*" pardon. Points, tho'
never so many, may be numbered. The multitude of points, or feet,
inches, &:c., hinders not their numbrableness (i. e. hinders not
their being numerable) in the least. Many or most are numerable,
as well as few or least. Also, if by infinite idea you mean an idea
too great to be comprehended or perceiv'd all at once, you must
excuse me. I think such an infinite is no less than a contradiction.

The sillyness of the current doctrine makes much for me. They
commonly suppose a material world — figures, motions, bulks of
various sizes, &c. — according to their own confession to no purpose.
All our sensations may be, and sometimes actually are, without
them ; nor can men so much as conceive it possible they should
concur in any wise to the production of them.

Ask a man, I mean a philosopher, why he supposes this vast
structure, this compages of bodies? he shall be at a stand; he'll
not have one word to say. W^h sufficiently shews the folly of the
hypothesis.

^ All this must be balanced by other state- ^^ Added on blank page of the MS.

ments. Cf. Life and Letters, ch. X.

428 Commonplace Book.

M. Or rather why he supposes all y^ Matter? for bodies and their
qualities I do allow to exist independently of our mind 2*.

S. Qu. How is the soul distinguish'd from its ideas ? Certainly if

there were no sensible ideas there could be no soul, no perception,
remembrance, love, fear, &c. ; no faculty could be exerted 2^.

S. The soul is the Will, properly speaking, and as it is distinct from

ideas 2^.

S. The grand puzzling question, whether I sleep or wake? easily

solv'd.

Qu. Whether minima or meer minima may not be compar'd
by their sooner or later evanescence, as well as by more or less
points, so that one sensible may be greater than another, though
it exceeds it not by one point ?

Circles on several radius's are not similar figures, they having
neither all nor any an infinite number of sides. Hence in vain to
enquire after 2 terms of one and y® same proportion that should
constantly express the reason of the d to the/> in all circles.

Mem. To remark Wallis's harangue, that the aforesaid pro-
portion can neither be expressed by rational numbers nor surds.

We can no more have an idea of length without breadth or
visibility, than of a general figure.

One idea may be like another idea, tho' they contain no com-
mon simple idea 2'^. Thus the simple idea red is in some sense
like the simple idea blue; 'tis liker it than sweet or shrill. But
then those ideas wcii are so said to be alike, agree both in their
connexion with another simple idea, viz. extension, & in their
being receiv'd by one & the same sense. But, after all, nothing
can be like an idea but an idea.

No sharing betwixt God & nature or second causes in my
doctrine.
M. Materialists must allow the earth to be actually mov'd by the
attractive power of every stone that falls from the air, with many
other the like absurditys.

''♦ i. e. of my individual mind. For Berke- than sensations, or sense-given phenomena,

ley's analysis of the externality of sensible vvhile they cannot be conceived to be indepen-

things, see Life and Letters, ch. X. dent of it. This he allows elsewhere, I think.

^^ This implies that the human soul de- ^^ i.e. from phenomena,

pends on sensible ideas as well as they on it. 27 j-jj^j^ j ^^ ^^^ altogether approve of.]

But mind may be percipient of other objects — Author.

Commonplace Book. 429

Enquire concerning the pendulum clock, &c. ; whether those
inventions of Huygens, Sec. be attained to by my doctrine.

The "" & ""' & """ &c. of time are to be cast away and
neglected, as so many noughts or nothings.

Mem. To make experiments concerning minimums and their
colours, whether they have any or no, & whether they can be of
that green w^h seems to be compounded of yellow and blue.

Qu. whether it were not better not to call the operations of
the mind ideas ^^ — confining this term to things sensible ?

Mem. Diligently to set forth how that many of the ancient
philosophers run into so great absurditys as even to deny the
existence of motion and those other things they perceiv'd actually
by their senses. This sprung from their not knowing w* Exist-
ence was, and wherein it consisted. This the source of all their
folly. 'Tis on the discovering of the nature and meaning and
import of Existence that I chiefly insist. This puts a wide
difference betwixt the sceptics 6cc. & me. This I think wholly
new. I am sure this new to me.

We have learn'd from Mr. Locke that there may be, and that
there are, several glib, coherent, methodical discourses, which
nevertheless amount to just nothing. This by him intended with
relation to the Scholemen. We may apply it to the mathematicians.

Qu. How can all words be said to stand for ideas ^^P The word
blue stands for a colour without any extension or abstract from
extension. But we have not an idea of colour without extension.
We cannot imagine colour without oitension.

Locke seems wrongly to assign a double use of words, one for
communicating &: the other for recording our thoughts. 'Tis
absurd to use words for recording our thoughts to ourselves, or
in our private meditations 2*^.

No one abstract simple idea like another. Two simple ideas

may be connected with one & the same 3*^ simple idea, or be in-

tromitted by one & the same sense. But consider'd in themselves

they can have nothing common, and consequently no likeness.

Qu. How can there be any abstract ideas of colours ? It seems

^' He usually calls them notions — in con- ^^ See a preceding note,

trast to the sensuous ideas of perception and ^'^ Is discursive thought, then, independent

imagination. of language ?

430 Commonplace Book.

not so easily as of tastes or sounds. But then all abstract ideas
whatsoever are particular. I can by no means conceive a general
idea. 'Tis one thing to abstract one idea from another of a
different kind, & another thing to abstract an idea from all
particulars of the same kind^^.

N, Mem. Much to recommend and approve of experimental
philosophy.

S. What means Cause as distinguish'd from Occasion ? Nothing

but a being w<h wills, wn the effect follows the volition. Those
things that happen from without we are not the cause of. There-
fore there is some other cause of them, i. e. there is a being that
wills these perceptions in us ^2.

[S. 33 ji; should be said, nothing but a Will — a being which wills
being unintelligible.]

One square cannot be double of another. Hence the Pythagoric
theorem is false.

Some writers of catoptrics absurd enough to place the apparent
place of the object in the Barrovian case behind the eye.

Blew and yellow chequers still diminishing terminate in green.
This may help to prove the composition of green.

There is in green 2 foundations of 2 relations of likeness
to blew & yellow. Therefore green is compounded.

A mixt cause will produce a mixt effect. Therefore colours
are all compounded that we see.

Mem. To consider Newton's two sorts of green.

N. B. My abstract & general doctrines ought not to be con-
demned by the Royall Society. 'Tis w* their meeting did ulti-
mately intend. V. Sprat's History S. R.^^

Mem. To premise a definition of ideals.

The 2 great principles of morality — the being of a God & the
■ freedom of man. Those to be handled in the beginning of the
Second Book ■'^'.

^' Every general notion is actually con- ^^ Added on blank page of the MS.

ceivable only in one or other of its possible 2* Cf p. 420, note 2. Bishop Sprat's ^/s-

applications. A triangle must be either equi- tory of the Royal Society appeared in 1667.

lateral, or rectangular, &c. ^ Much need, but it has not been ade-

^ This is the germ of Berkeley's notion of quately done,

externality, or duality in existence, which is "^^ What ' Second Book' is this ? He speaks

formed on the consciousness of our individual of a ' First ' and a ' Third Book,' &c. in the

or finite personality. sequel.

Commonplace Book. 431

Subvertitur geometria ut non practica sed speculativa.

Archimedes's proposition about squaring the circle has nothing
to do with circumferences containing less than 96 points j ^ if
the circumference contain 96 points it may be apply'd, but nothing
will follow against indivisibles. V. Barrow.

Those curve lines that you can rectify geometrically. Com-
pare them with their equal right lines & by a microscope you shall
discover an inequality. Hence my squaring of the circle as good
and exact as the best.

Qu. whether the substance of body or anything else be any
more than the collection of ideas included in that thing? Thus
the substance of any particular body is extension, solidity, figure ^'^.
Of general body no idea.

Mem. Most carefully to inculcate and set forth that the en-
deavouring to express abstract philosophic thoughts by words
unavoidably runs a man into difficulties. This to be done in the
Introduction ^^.

Mem. To endeavour most accurately to understand what is
meant by this axiom : Quse sibi mutuo congruunt aequalia sunt.

Qu. what the geometers mean by equality of lines, &
whether, according to their definition of equality, a curve line
can possibly be equal to a right line?

If wtli me you call those lines equal wch contain an equal number
of points, then there will be no difficulty. That curve is equal to
a right line w^ contains the same points as the right one doth.

I take not away substances. I ought not to be accused of dis-
carding substance out of the reasonable world ^'^. I onely reject the
philosophic sense (wch in effect is no sense) of the word substance.
Ask a man not tainted with their jargon wt he means by cor-
poreal substance, or the substance of body. He shall answer,
bulk, solidity, and such like sensible qualitys. These I retain.
The philosophic nee quid, nee quantum, nee quale, whereof I have

" This is Berkeley's notion of physical being essential and not accidental to them,
substance — an aggregate of sense-given phe- ^^ Cf. Introduction to the Principles, sect,

nomena, having the formal, efficient, and 1 8 — 25.

final cause of their aggregation in Supreme =•' He refers here to Bishop Stillingfleet's
Intelligence, but which are more or less fully charge against Locke — of ' discarding sub-
experienced by and intelligible to human stance out of the reasonable part of the
minds — mind, both human and Supreme, world.'

432 Commonplace Book.

no idea, I discard, if a man may be said to discard that which
never had any being, was never so much as imagin'd or conceiv'd.
M. In short, be not angry. You lose nothing, whether real or
chimerical. Wtever you can in any wise conceive or imagine, be
it never so wild, so extravagant, & absurd, much good may it do
you. You may enjoy it for me. I'll never deprive you of it.

N.B. I am more for reality than any other philosophers. They
make a thousand doubts, & know not certainly but we may be
deceived. I assert the direct contrary.

A line in the sense of mathematicians is not meer distance.
This evident in that there are curve lines.

Curves perfectly incomprehensible, inexplicable, absurd, except
we allow points.

I. If men look for a thing where it's not to be found, be they

never so sagacious, it is lost labour. If a simple clumsy man knows
where the game lies, he though a fool shall catch it sooner than
the most fleet & dexterous that seek it elsewhere. Men choose
to hunt for truth and knowledge anywhere rather than in their
own understanding, where 'tis to be found.

M. All knowledge onely about ideas. Locke, B. 4. c. i.

S. It seems improper, & liable to difficulties, to make the word

person stand for an idea, or to make ourselves ideas, or thinking
things ideas.

I. General ideas cause of much trifling and mistake.

Mathematicians seem not to speak clearly and coherently of
equality. They nowhere define w^ they mean by that word when
apply'd to lines.

Locke says the modes of simple ideas, besides extension and
number, are counted by degrees. I deny there are any modes or
degrees of simple ideas. What he terms such are complex ideas,
as I have proved in green.

W* do the mathematicians mean by considering curves as
polygons? Either they are polygons or they are not. If they are,
why do they give them the name of curves ? Why do not they
constantly call them polygons, & treat them as such ? If they
are not polygons, I think it absurd to use polygons in their stead.

Commonplace Book. 433

W* is this but to pervert language ? to adapt an idea to a name
that belongs not to it but to a different idea ?

The mathematicians should look to their axiom, Quae con-
gruunt sunt sequalia. I know not what they mean by bidding me put
one triangle on another. The under triangle is no triangle —
nothing at all, it not being perceiv'd. I ask, must sight be judge
of this congruentia or not? If it must, then all lines seen under
the same angle are equal, w^h they will not acknowledge. Must
the touch be judge ? But we cannot touch or feel lines and sur-
faces, such as triangles, &c., according to the mathematicians
themselves. Much less can we touch a line or triangle that's
covered by another line or triangle.

Do you mean by saying one triangle is equall to another, that
they both take up equal spaces ? But then the question recurs,
what mean you by equal spaces ? If you mean spatia congruentia^
answer the above difficulty truly.

I can mean (for my part) nothing else by equal triangles than
triangles containing equal numbers of points.

I can mean nothing by equal lines but lines w^h 'tis indifferent
whether of them I take, lines in w^h I observe by my senses no
difference, & w^h therefore have the same name.

Must the imagination be judge in the aforementioned cases ? but
then imagination cannot go beyond the touch and sight. Say you.
Pure intellect must be judge. I reply that lines and triangles are
not operations of the mind ^•'.

If I speak positively and with the air of a mathematician in
things of which 1 am certain, 'tis to avoid disputes, to make men
careful to think before they answer, to discuss my arguments
before they go to refute them. I would by no means injure truth
and certainty by an affected modesty & submission to better
judgments. Wt I lay before you are undoubted theorems, not
plausible conjectures of my own, nor learned opinions of other
men. 1 pretend not to prove them by figures, analogy, or authority.
Let them stand or fall by their own evidence.

When you speak of the corpuscularian essences of bodys, to
reflect on sect. 11. & 12. b. 4. c. 3. Locke. Motion supposes not

*" But may their mathematical relations them, and which they must conform to in
not be uncreated or necessary intelligible all cases of their actual existence ?
conditions of sensible things — realizable in
VOL. IV. F f

434 Commonplace Book.

solidity. A meer colour'd extension may give us the idea of
motion.
P. Any subject can have of each sort of primary qualities but one

particular at once. Lib. 4. c. 3. s. 15. Locke.
M. Well, say you, according to this new doctrine, all is but meer
idea — there is nothing W^^^ is not an ens rationis. I answer, things
are as real, and exist in rerum natura^ as much as ever. The differ-
ence between entia realia & enti^ rationis may be made as properly
now as ever. Do but think before you speak. Endeavour rightly
to comprehend my meaning, and you'll agree with me in this.
N. Fruitless the distinction 'twixt real and nominal essences.

We are not acquainted with the meaning of our words. Real, ex-
tension, existence, power, matter, lines, infinite, pointy and many
more are frequently in our mouths, when little, clear, and determin'd
answers them in our understandings. This must be well inculcated.
M. Vain is the distinction 'twixt intellectual and material world.
V. Locke, lib. 4. c. 3. s. 27, where he says that is far more beau-
tiful than this.
S. Foolish in men to despise the senses. If it were not for them

MO' the mind could have no knowledge, no thought at all. All * * *
of introversion, meditation, contemplation, and spiritual acts,
as if these could be exerted before we had ideas from without by
the senses, are manifestly absurd. This may be of great use in
that it makes the happyness of the life to come more conceivable
and agreeable to our present nature. The schoolemen & refiners
in philosophy gave the greatest part of mankind no more tempting
idea of heaven or the joys of the blest.

The vast, wide-spread, universal cause of our mistakes is, that
we do not consider our own notions. I mean consider them in them-
selves, fix, settle, and determine them, — we regarding them with
relation to each other only. In short, we are much out in study-
[ing] the relations of things before we study them absolutely and in
themselves. Thus we study to find out the relations of figures to
one another, the relations also of number, without endeavouring
rightly to understand the nature of extension and number in them-
selves. This we think is of no concern, of no difficulty, but if 1
mistake not 'tis of the last importance.
Mo. I allow not of the distinction there is made 'twixt profit and
pleasure.

Commonplace Book. 435

40. 1 'd never blame a man for acting upon interest. He's a fool
that acts on any other principles. The not considering these
things has been of ill consequence in morality ^^.

My positive assertions are no less modest than those that are
introduced with ' It seems to me,' ' I suppose,' Sec. ; since I

I declare, once for all, that all I write or think is entirely about
things as they appear to me. It concerns no man else any further
than his thoughts agree with mine. This in the Preface,

Two things are apt to confound men in their reasonings one with
another. 1st. Words signifying the operations of the mind are
taken from sensible ideas. 2ndly. Words as used by the vulgar are
taken in some latitude, their signification is confused. Hence
if a man use y™ in a determined, settled signification, he is at
a hazard either of not being understood, or of speaking impro-
perly. All this remedyed by studying the understanding.

Unity no simple idea. I have no idea meerly answering the
word one. All number consists in relations ''2.

Entia realia et entia rationis, a foolish distinction of the
Schoolemen.

M. We have an intuitive knowledge of the existence of other things

P' besides ourselves, & order prsecedaneous'^^ is the knowledge of our
own existence — in that we must have ideas or else we cannot think.

S. We move our legs ourselves. 'Tis we that will their movement.

Herein I differ from Malbranch"*^.

Mo. Mem. Nicely to discuss Lib. 4. c. 4. Locke ^^.

M. Mem. Again and again to mention & illustrate the doctrine
of the reality of things, rerum natura, &c.

M. Wt I say is demonstration — perfect demonstration. Wherever
men have fix'd & determin'd ideas annexed to their words they can
hardly be mistaken. Stick but to my definition of likeness, and ^tis
a demonstration yt colours are not simple ideas, all reds being like,
&c. So also in other things. This to be heartily insisted on.

E. The abstract idea of Being or Existence is never thought of by
the vulgar. They never use those words standing for abstract ideas.

*^ This tinges Berkeley's theological utili- quotation from Barrow,

tarianism. " Who refunds human, as well as natural,

*^ Cf. Principles, sect. 13, 119 — 122, into Divine agency,

which disprove any physical reality corre- *^ In which Locke treats ' Of the Reality

spending to number in the abstract. of our Knowledge.'

^ Richardson gives this word. See his

F f 2

436 Commonplace Book.

M. I must not say the words thing, substance, &:c. have been the
cause of mistakes, but the not reflecting on their meaning. I will
be still for retaining the words. I only desire that men would
think before they speak, and settle the meaning of their words.

Mo. I approve not of that which Locke says, viz. truth consists in
the joining and separating of signs.

I. Locke cannot explain general truth or knowledge without treat-

ing of words and propositions. This makes for me against general
ideas. Vide Locke, lib. 4. ch. 6.

L Men have been very industrious in travelling forward. They

have gone a great way. But none have gone backward beyond
the Principles. On that side there lies much terra incognita to be
travel'd over and discovered by me. A vast field for invention.

Twelve inches not the same idea with a foot. Because a man
may perfectly conceive a foot who never thought of an inch.

A foot is equal to or the same with twelve inches in this respect,
viz. they contain both the same number of points.
[Forasmuch as] to be used.

Mem. To mention somewhat w^h may encourage the study of
politiques and testify of me yt I am well dispos'd toward them.

L If men did not use words for ideas they would never have

thought of abstract ideas. Certainly genera and species are not
abstract general ideas. These include a contradiction in their
nature. Vide Locke, lib. 4. s. 9. c. 7.

A various or mixt cause must necessarily produce a various or
mixt effect. This demonstrable from the definition of a cause ;
which way of demonstrating must be frequently made use of in
my Treatise, & to that end definitions often prsemis'd. Hence
'tis evident that, according to Newton's doctrine, colours cannot
be simple ideas.

M. I am the farthest from scepticism of any man. I know with an
intuitive knowledge the existence of other things as well as my
own soul. This is wt Locke nor scarce any other thinking
philosopher will pretend to ^^.

« This and other passages refer to the an- that we can only compare our thoughts with

cent scepticism founded on the impossibility one another, and never escape from the circle

of our ever comparmg our thoughts about of subjectivity. Berkeley's philosophy was

things with the real things in themselves, so intended to refute this sort of scepticism.

Commonplace Book. 437

Doctrine of abstraction of very evil consequence in all the
sciences. Mem. Barrow's remark. Entirely owing to language.

Locke greatly out in reckoning the recording our ideas by
words amongst the uses and not the abuses of language.

Of great use & ye last importance to contemplate a man put
into the world alone, with admirable abilitys, and see how after
long experience he would know wti^out words. Such a one would
never think of genera and species or abstract general ideas. ,

Wonderful in Locke that he could, w" advanced in years, y_
see at all thro' a mist; it had been so long a gathering, & was ^"'-~-
consequently thick. This more to be admirM than y' he did not
see farther. t. — -

Identity of ideas may be taken in a double sense, either as inclu-
ding or excluding identity of circumstances, such as time, place, Sec.
Mo. I am glad the people I converse with are not all richer, wiser,
&c. than L This is agreeable to reason; is no sin. 'Tis certain
that if the happyness of my acquaintance encreases, & mine not
proportionably, mine must decrease. The not understanding
this & the doctrine about relative good, discuss'd with French,
Madden*"^, &c., to be noticed as 2 causes of mistake in judging
of moral matters.

Mem. To observe (wn you talk of the division of ideas into
simple and complex) that there may be another cause of the un-
definableness of certain ideas besides that which Locke gives ; viz.
the want of names.
M. Mem. To begin the First Book not with mention of sensation
and reflection, but instead of sensation to use perception or
thought in general.
I. I defy any man to imagine or conceive perception without an

idea, or an idea without perception.
E. Locke's very supposition that matter & motion should exist
before thought is absurd, includes a manifest contradiction '^s.

Locke's harangue about coherent, methodical discourses amount-
ing to nothing, apply'd to the mathematicians.

They talk of determining all the points of a curve by an equa-
tion. W* mean they by this? W* would they signify by the
word points ? Do they stick to the definition of Euclid ?

*'' Probably Samuel Madden, who after- *' Berkeley's philosophy professes to give

wards edited the Querist. the rationale of this.

438 Commonplace Book.

S. We think we know not the soul, because we have no ima-

ginable or sensible idea annex'd to that sound. This the effect
of prejudice.

S. Certainly we do not know it. This will be plain if we ex-

amine what we mean by the word knowledge. Neither doth this
argue any defect in our knowledge, no more than our not knowing
a contradiction.

The very existence of ideas constitutes the souH^.

S. Consciousness ^^, perception, existence of ideas, seem to be all one.
Consult, ransack y"" understanding. W* find you there besides
several perceptions or thoughts? W* mean you by the word
mind? You must mean something that you perceive, or yt you
do not perceive. A thing not perceived is a contradiction. To
mean (also) a thing you do not perceive is a contradiction.
We are in all this matter strangely abused by words.

Mind is a congeries of perceptions. Take away perceptions
and you take away the mind. Put the perceptions and you put
the mind.

Say you, the mind is not the perception, not that thing which
perceives. I answer, you are abused by the words ' that a thing.'
These are vague and empty words with us.

S. The having ideas is not the same thing with perception. A

man may have ideas when he only imagines. But then this
imagination presupposeth perception.

That well extreamly strengthens us in prejudice is y* we think
we see an empty space, which I shall demonstrate to be false
in the Third Book^^

There may be demonstrations used even in Divinity. 1 mean
in revealed Theology, as contradistinguish'd from natural ; for
tho' the principles may be founded in faith, yet this hinders
not but that legitimate demonstrations might be built thereon.
Provided still that we define the words we use, and never go
beyond our ideas. Hence 'twere no very hard matter for those

*' Does consciousness of phenomena then egos as distinguished from the Ego.

constitute self— so that self could not exist ^ ' Consciousness,' a term seldom used by

in an unconscious state ? Here Berkeley's Berkeley, here equivalent to immediate per-

theory of Time comes in. But might not ception— external and internal,

finite minds or persons be kept in existence ^i Again a ' Third Book.' This is done

during intervals of personal inactivity, in in the New Theory of Vision, and in the

the same way as sensible things ? Berkeley Principles, sect. 42—44.
has no clear teaching about finite minds —

Commonplace Book. 439

who hold episcopacy or monarchy to be established jure Divino to
demonstrate their doctrines if they are true. But to pretend to
demonstrate or reason anything about the Trinity is absurd. Here
an implicit faith becomes us ^2.

Qu. if there be any real difference betwixt certain ideas of
reflection & others of sensation, e. g. betwixt perception and
white, black, sweet, 6cc. ? Wherein, I pray you, does the percep-
tion of white differ from white men % ^ ^

I shall demonstrate all my doctrines. The nature of demon-
stration to be set forth and insisted on in the Introduction^^. In
that I must needs differ from Locke, forasmuch as he makes all
demonstration to be about abstract ideas, w='i I say we have not
nor can have.

The understanding seemeth not to differ from its perceptions
or ideas. Qu. What must one think of the will and passions ?

A good proof that Existence is nothing without or distinct from
perception, may be drawn from considering a man put into the
world without company ^^.

There was a smell, i.e. there was a smell perceiv'd. Thus we
see that common speech confirms my doctrine.

No broken intervals of death or annihilation. Those intervals
are nothing; each person's time being measured to him by his
own ideas ^^.

We are frequently puzzl'd and at a loss in obtaining clear and
determin'd meanings of words commonly in use, & that because
we imagine words stand for general ideas which are altogether
inconceivable.

' A stone is a stone/ This a nonsensical proposition, and such
as the solitary man would never think Wk. Nor do I believe he
would ever think on this : ' The whole is equal to its parts,' &c.

Let it not be said that I take away existence. I only declare
the meaning of the word so far as I can comprehend it.

If you take away abstraction, how do men differ from beasts ?
I answer, by shape, by language. Rather by degrees of more and less.

'^ See e. g. Alciphron, Dial. VII. sect. 1 1 — proaches the Divine.

18, where the function of faith in finite ^^ This not done,

minds, with a sphere proportional to the ^ i.e. he would have no such word,

intellectual development of the individual, is ^ i.e. Time is only relative to the indi-

referred to. Faith becomes science as the vidual — the extreme form of the homo meti'

individual intelligence developes and ap- svra principle.

440 Commonplace Book.

W* means Locke by inferences in words, consequences of
words, as something different from consequences of ideas ? 1 con-
ceive no such thing.

1. N.B. Much complaint about the imperfection of language.

M, But perhaps some man may say, an inert thoughtless substance
may exist, though not extended, moved, &c., but with other proper-
ties whereof we have no idea. But even this I shall demonstrate to
be impossible, w" I come to treat more particularly of Existence 5^.
Will not rightly distinguish'd from Desire by Locke — it seeming
to superadd nothing to the idea of an action, but the uneasiness
for its absence or non-existence.

S. Mem. To enquire diligently into that strange mistery, viz.
How it is that I can cast about, think of this or that man, place,
action, w" nothing appears to introduce them into my thoughts,
w" they have no perceivable connexion with the ideas suggested
by my senses at the present ?

L 'Tis not to be imagin'd w* a marvellous emptiness & scarcity

of ideas that man shall descry who will lay aside all use of words
in his meditations.

M. Incongruous in Locke to fancy we want a sense proper to see
substances with ^'^.

L Locke owns that abstract ideas were made in order to naming.

M. The common errour of the opticians, that we judge of distance
by angles, strengthens men in their prejudice that they see things
without and distant from their mind.

E. I am persuaded, would men but examine w* they mean by the
word existence, they wou'd agree with me.

c. 2o. s. 8. b. 4. of Locke ^^ makes for me against the mathema-
ticians. ^

M. The supposition that things are distinct from ideas takes away
all real truth, & consequently brings in a universal scepticism,
since all our knowledge and contemplation is confin'd barely to
our own ideas ^^. »

«« Principles, sect. 77—81, 89. dogmatic assumption of doubtful proposi-

Essay, Bk. II. ch. 23, and the Bishop tions as first principles— that favourite one

of Worcester's Ariswer (1697) to Locke's above all, ' that our assumed first principles

First Letter. Locke's account of Substance, are not to be questioned.'

and the controversy to which it gave rise, «' i.e. To the phenomena of which we are

may have been an immediate occasion of conscious or immediately percipient, with the

Berkeley's New Conception of the Universe. apodeictic principles which enable us to under-

* Where and elsewhere he condemns the stand them, or draw inferences about them.

Commonplace Book. 441

Qu. whether the solitary man would not find it necessary to
make use of words to record his ideas, if not in memory or medita-
tion, yet at least in writing — without which he could scarce retain
his knowledge ^".

We read in history there was a time when fears and jealousies,
privileges of parliament, malignant party, and such like expres-
sions of too unlimited and doubtful a meaning, were words of
much sway. Also the words Church, Whig, Tory, 6cc., contribute
very much to faction and dispute.

The distinguishing betwixt an idea and perception of the idea
has been one great cause of imagining material substances ^^.

That God and blessed spirits have Will is a manifest argument
against Locke's proofs that the Will cannot be conceiv'd, put into
action, without a previous uneasiness.

The act of the Will, or volition, is not uneasiness, for that un-
easiness may be without volition.

Volition is distinct from the object or idea for the same reason.
S. Also from uneasiness and idea together.

The understanding not distinct from particular perceptions or
ideas.

The Will not distinct from particular volitions.
S. It is not so very evident that an idea, or at least uneasiness,

may be without all volition or act.

The understanding taken for a faculty is not really distinct from
ye will.

This allow'd hereafter.
S. To ask whether a man can will either side is an absurd ques-

tion, for the word ' can' presupposes volition.

N. Anima mundi, substantial form, omniscient radical heat, plastic

vertue, Hylaschic principle — all these vanish ^2.
M. Newton proves that gravity is proportional to gravity. I think

that's all 63.

**• He begins to discover that communica- Siris, with its chain or gradation of existence,

tion with others is not the only use of signs. which culminates in Intelligence — in analogy

^1 But he elsewhere contrasts the idea or with some ancient Greek and modern Ger-

perception with the percipient, as these anti- man philosophy,

thesis in a duality. "^ Cf. Berkeley's letter to Johnson, p.

** Yet they reappear after a fashion in 179; also De Motu.

442 Commonplace Book.

Qu. whether it be the vis inertise that makes it difficult to
move a stone, or the vis attractivse, or both, or neither ?

Mem. To express the doctrines as fully and copiously and clearly
as may be. Also to be full and particular in ansv/ering objections.

S. To say ye Will is a power • [^^ therefore] volition is an act.

This is idem per idem.

Wt makes men despise extension, motion, &c., & separate

them from the essence of the soal, is that they imagine them to

be distinct from thought, and to exist in unthinkirig substance.
An extended may have passive modes of thinking good actions.
There might be idea, there might be uneasiness, there might be

the greatest uneasiness wthout any volition, therefore the * "^ "^
M. Matter once allow'd, I defy any man to prove that God is not

matter ^^.
S. Man is free. There is no difficulty in this proposition, if we

but settle the signification of the word free — if we had an idea

annext to the word free, and would but contemplate that idea.
S. We are imposed on by the words will, determine, agent, free,

can, 6cc.
S. Uneasiness precedes not every volition. This evident by ex-

perience.
S. Trace an infant in the womb. Mark the train & succession

of its ideas. Observe how volition comes into the mind. This

may perhaps acquaint you with its nature.
S. Complacency seems rather to determine, or precede, or coincide

wth & constitute the essence of volition, than uneasiness.
S. You tell me, according to my doctrine a man is not free. I answer,

tell me w* you mean by the word free, and I shall resolve you ^^.

N. Qu. W* do men mean when they talk of one body's ' touching'
another ? I say you never saw one body touch, or (rather) I say, I
never saw one body that I could say touch'd this or that other-
for that if my optiques were improv'd, I should see intervalls and
other bodies behind those wh^h now seem to touch.

Mem. Upon all occasions to use the utmost modesty — to con-

^ So in MS. and Ends in sensible existence being, more-

^ Berkeley's philosophy substitutes Su- over, partially discovered in the principles of

preme Mind for abstract or unperceived physical and mathematical science.

Matter — on the ground that the necessities of *'' On free or proper agency in man, cf. Al-

reason compel this — the Supreme Thoughts ciphron, Dial. VII. sect. 19 — 22.

Commonplace Book. 443

fute the mathematicians wth the utmost civility & respect, not
to style them Nihilarians, &c.

N.B. To rein in ye satyrical nature.

Blame me not if I use my words sometimes in some latitude.
'Tis wt cannot be helpt. ^Tis the fault of language that you cannot
always apprehend the clear and determinate meaning of my words.

Say you, there might be a thinking substance — something un-
known wch perceives, and supports, and ties together the ideas.
Say I, make it appear there is any need of it and you shall have it
for me. I care not to take away anything I can see the least
reason to think should exist.

I affirm 'tis manifestly absurd — no excuse in the world can be
given why a man should use a word without an idea. Certainly we
shall find that wt ever word we make use of in matter of pure rea-
soning has, or ought to have, a compleat idea annext to it, i.e. its
meaning or the sense we take it in must be compleatly known 6'^.

^Tis demonstrable a man can never be brought to imagine any-
thing should exist whereof he has no ideals. Whoever says he
does, banters himself with words.

We imagine a great difference & distance in respect of know-
ledge, power, &c., betwixt a man & a worm. The like difference
betwixt man and God may be imagin'd, or infinitely greater
difference.

We find in our own minds a great number of different ideas.
We may imagine in God a greater number, i. e. that ours in
number, or the number of ours, is inconsiderable in respect
thereof. The words difference and number, old and known, we
apply to that w^h is unknown. But I am embrangled in words
— 'tis scarce possible it should be otherwise ^^.

The chief thing I do or pretend to do is onely to remove the mist
or veil of words '^^. This has occasioned ignorance & confusion.

*' But cf. Frhtciples, Introduction, sect. per se indeed are not imaginable, but which

19 — 20 ; Alcipbron, Dial, VII. sect. 8 ; and must be always realized in the realization of

the Analyst. the concrete ideas or phenomena?

®* i.e. no perception or imagination ; and *' To 'embrangle' or 'brangle' — to be

as we canuot perceive or imagine insensible involved in a dispute or difficulty. This is

Matter, he argues that it cannot exist. But, an attempt to realize the Divine, in distinc-

though we cannot imagine that of which we tion from finite knowledge.
have no idea, may there not be uncreated ™ Cf. Principles, Introduction, sect. 24.

conditions of the existence of ideas, which

444 Commonplace Book.

This has ruined the schoolmen and mathematicians, lawyers and
divines.

S. The grand cause of perplexity & darkness in treating of the

Will, is that we imagine it to be an object of thought : (to speak
with the vulgar), we think we may perceive, contemplate, and
view it like any of our ideas, whereas in truth 'tis no idea, nor is
there any idea of it. 'Tis toto calo different from the under-
standing, i. e. from all our ideas. If you say the Will, or rather
volition, is something, I answer, there is an homonymy in the
word ' thing ' w" apply'd to ideas and volition, and understanding
and will. All ideas are passive volitions [or actions] .

S. Thing & idea are much what words of the same extent and

meaning. Why, therefore, do I not use the word thing? Ans.
Because thing is of greater latitude than idea. Thing compre-
hends also volitions or actions. Now these are no ideas.

S. There can be perception wthout volition. Qu. whether there

can be volition without perception?

£• Existence not conceivable without perception or volition — not
distinguish'd therefrom.

T. N.B. Several distinct ideas can be perceived by sight and
touch at once. Not so by the other senses. 'Tis this diversity
of sensations in other senses chiefly, but sometimes in touch and
sight (as also diversity of volitions, whereof there cannot be more
than one at once, or rather, it seems there cannot, for of that I
doubt), gives us the idea of time — or is time itself^.
W- would the solitary man think of number ?

S. There are innate ideas, i. e. ideas created with us '^'^.

I s. Locke seems to be mistaken w" he says thought is not essen-

! tial to the mind'^^.

S. Certainly the mind always and constantly thinks: and we know

this too. In sleep and trances the mind exists not '^^ — there is no
time, no succession of ideas.

S. I To say the mind exists without thinking is a contradiction,
[nonsense, nothing.

S. ' Folly to inquire wt determines the Will. Uneasiness, &c. are

■" Cf. Berkeley's letter to Johnson, p. 177. " Essay, Bk. II. ch. 1.

'2 i. e. connate ideas, or connate pheno- ''< This is one way of meeting the diffi-

mena. What are these ? Not connate culty of gaps or intervals in the continuity

notions, as in Siris, sect. 308. of conscious life.

Commonplace Book. 445

ideas, therefore unactive, therefore can do nothing, therefore can-
not determine the Will.

Again, w* mean you by determine '^^ ?

For want of rightly understanding time, motion, existence, &c.,
men are forc'd into such absurd contradictions as this, viz. light
moves 16 diameters of earth in a second of time'^'^.

'Twas the opinion that ideas could exist unperceiv'd, or before
perception, that made men think perception was somewhat different
from the idea perceived — y* it was an idea of reflection, whereas
the thing perceiv'd was an idea of sensation. I say, 'twas this made
'em think the understanding took it in, receiv'd it from without,
w^h could never be did not they think it existed without '^'^.

Properly speaking, idea is the picture of the imagination's
making. This is y^ likeness of, and refer'd to the ' real idea,'
or (if you will) thing "^8.

To ask, have we an idea of Will or volition, is nonsense. An
idea can resemble nothing but an idea.

If you ask w^ thing it is that wills, I answer, if you mean
idea'^^ by the word thing, or anything like any idea, then I say,
'tis no thing at all that wills. This how extravagant soever it may
seem, yet is a certain truth. We are cheated by these general
terms, thing, is, &c.

Again, if by is you mean is perceived, or does perceive, I say
nothing w^ii is perceived or does perceive wills.

The referring ideas to things w^h are not ideas, the using the
term ' idea of ^0,' is one great cause of mistake, as in other matters,
so also in this.

Some words there are wch do not stand for ideas, viz. particles,
will, &c. Particles stand for volitions and their concomitant ideas.

There seem to be but two colours w^h are simple ideas, viz.
those exhibited by the most and least refrangible rays, . . . [the

''^ With Berkeley, volition is the proper '* i. e. idea is rather a name for the re-

meaning of action, which in its essence is presentation in imagination, than for that of

self-originated, and to ask for the power or which we are originally conscious in the

action which produces power or action is senses. It might have been well if he had

absurd. always kept to this.

''^ Time, Motion, Existence itself, are, ^* ' Idea,' i. e. the phenomena and effects

with Berkeley, necessarily concrete and which when aggregated constitute the phy-

relative. sical substance.

" ' Without,' i. e. irrespective of being *" As we must do in imagination, which

known, either by God or by a finite and (unlike sense) is representative,
sentient mind.

446 Commonplace Book.

others], being the intermediate ones, may be formed by com-
position.
S' I have no idea of a volition or act of the mind, neither has any

other intelligence, for that were a contradiction.

N. B. Simple ideas, viz. colours, are not devoid of all sort of
composition, tho' it must be granted they are not made up of
distinguishable ideas. Yet there is another sort of composition.
Men are wont to call those things compounded in which we do
not actually discover the component ingredients. Bodies are said
to be compounded of chymical principles, which, nevertheless, come
not into view till after the dissolution of the bodies, w^h were not,
could not be discerned in the bodies whilst remaining entire.

I. All our knowledge is about particular ideas, according to Locke.

All our sensations are particular ideas, as is evident. W* use
then do we make of general ideas, since we neither know nor per-
ceive them.

S. 'Tis allow'd that particles stand not for ideas, and yet they are

not said to be empty useless sounds. The truth really is, they
stand for the operations of the mind, i.e. volitions.

Mo. Locke says all our knowledge is about particulars. If so, pray
wt is the following ratiocination but a jumble of words ? ' Omnis
homo est animal j omne animal vivit: ergo omnis homo vivit.'
It amounts (if you annex particular ideas to the words 'animal'
and * vivit') to no more than this: 'Omnis homo est homo;
omnis homo est homo: ergo, omnis homo est homo.' A mere
sport and trifling with sounds.

Mo. We have no ideas of vertues & vices, no ideas of moral actions.
Wherefore it may be question'd whether we are capable of arriving
at demonstration about them^i, the morality consisting in the
volition chiefly.

E. Strange it is that men should be at a loss to find their idea of
Existence 82j since that (if such there be distinct from perception) it
is brought into the mind by all the ways of sensation and reflection;
methinks it should be most familiar to us, and we best acquainted
with it.

As Locke says we are. is conscious in knowing and acting, and

^'^ i.e. of existence in the abstract, distinct in what is actually known and pro-
from the concrete existence of which one duced.

Commonplace Book. 447

This I am sure, I have no idea of Existence ^^, or annext to the
word existence. And if others have that's nothing to mcj they
can never make me sensible of it ; simple ideas being incommu-
nicable by language.

Say youj the unknown substratum of volitions & ideas is some-
thing whereof I have no idea. I ask. Is there any other being
which has or can have an idea of it ? If there be, then it must be
itself an idea ; which you will think absurd.

There is somewhat active in most perceptions, i. e. such as
ensue upon our volitions, such as we can prevent and stop : e. g. I
turn my eyes toward the sun — I open them. All this is active.

5. Things are twofold — active or inactive. The existence of
active things is to act^^; of inactive to be perceiv'd.

5. Distinct from or without perception there is no volition j there-

^' fore neither is there existence without perception.

G. God may comprehend all ideas, even the ideas wcl^ are painfull
& unpleasant, without being in any degree pained thereby.
Thus we ourselves can imagine the pain of a burn, &c. without
any misery or uneasiness at all ^^.

^* Truth, three sorts thereof — natural, mathematical, & moral.

Mo. • Agreement of relation onely where numbers do obtain — of co-

^^* existence in nature — of signification ... by including in morality.

j^ Gyantwho shakes the mountain that's on him must be acknow-

ledged— or rather thus: I am no more to be reckoned stronger
than Locke, than a pigmy should be reckon'd stronger than a
gyant because he could throw off the molehill w^h lay upon him,
and the gyant could onely shake or shove the mountain that
oppressed him. This in the Preface.

I. Promise to extend our knowledge & clear it of those shamefull

contradictions which embarrass it. Something like this to begin
the Introduction in a modest way '^^.

I. Whoever shall pretend to censure any part, I desire he would

read out the whole, else he may perhaps not understand me — in
the Preface or Introduction ^'^.

*^ i. e. of Existence supplied distinct from knowing sensible things without being sen-
being perceived and produced, which last tient — knowing those of His own Thoughts
alone is presentable in sense, or representable in which are dimly signified to ns in sense,
imagination — is ideal or phenomenal, in short. interpreted in physical science.

** This seems to recognize only the *" Cf. Principles, Introduction, sect. I — 4.

^vvafiis, not the fvepytia of Aristotle. ^ Cf. Preface to Principles ; also to Dia-

^5 "pjjjg implies the possibility of God's lognes.

448 Commonplace Book.

S. Doctrine of identity best explain'd by taking the Will for

volitions, the Understanding for ideas. The difficulty of con-
sciousness of wt are never acted surely solv'd thereby.

I. I must acknowledge myself beholding to the philosophers who

have gone before me. They have given good rules, though cer-
tainly they do not always observe them. Similitude of adven-
turers, who, tho' they attained not the desired port, they by their
wrecks have made known the rocks and sands, whereby the
passage of aftercomers is made more secure & easy. Preface
or Introduction.

Mo. The opinion that men had ideas of moral actions ^^ has render'd
the demonstrating ethiques very difficult to them.

S. An idea being itself unactive cannot be the resemblance or

image of an active thing.

!• Excuse to be made in the Introduction for using the word idea,

viz. because it has obtained. But a caution must be added.

Scripture and possibility are the onely proofs with Malbranch.
Add to these what he calls a great propension to think so. This
perhaps may be questioned. Perhaps men, if they think before
they speak, will not be found so thoroughly persuaded of the exist-
ence of Matter ^^.

M. On second thoughts 1 am on t'other extream. I am certain of
that wch Malbranch seems to doubt of, viz. the existence of
bodies ^o.

^' Mem. To bring the killing blow at the last, e. g. in the matter

^* of abstraction to bring Locke's general triangle in the last ^1.

I. They give good rules, tho' perhaps they themselves do not

always observe them. They speak much of clear and distinct
ideas, though at the same time they talk of general abstract ideas,
&c. I'll [instance] in Locke's opinion of abstraction, he being as
clear a writer as I have met with. Such was the candour of this
great man that I perswade myself, were he alive ^^^ ^g would not be
offended that I differ from him, seeing that even in so doing I
follow his advice, viz. to use my own judgement, see with my
own eyes, & not with another's. Introduction.

^ i. e. that ethics was a science of phe- '" ' Bodies' — i. e. sensible things — not un-

nomena, perceived Matter.

*' i.e. of abstract, insensible Matter — ^' Cf. Pnna^Zes, Introduction, sect. 13.

TO (Tf pov of Plato — as distinguished from *^ Locke died in October, 1704.

sensible thin

gs-

Commonplace Book. 449

The word thing as comprising or standing for idea & volition
useful!, as standing for idea and archetype without the mind "^^
mischievous and useless.
^^' To demonstrate morality it seems one need only make a dic-
tionary of words and see which included which. At least, this is
the greatest part and bulk of the work.

'^*-** Locke's instances of demonstration in morality are, according to
his own rule, trifling propositions.

Qu. How comes it that some ideas are confessedly allow'd by all
to be onely in the mind''*, and others as generally taken to be
without the mind ^^, if, according to you, all are equally and only
in the mind ? Ans. Because that in proportion to pleasure or pain
ideas are attended with desire, exertion, and other actions which
include volition. Now volition is by all granted to be in spirit.

t' If men would lay aside words in thinking, 'tis impossible they

should ever mistake, save only in matters of fact. I mean it seems
impossible they should be positive & secure that anything was true
w'^i^ in truth is not so. Certainly I cannot err in matter of simple
perception. So far as we can in reasoning go without the help of
signs, there we have certain knowledge. Indeed, in long deduc-
tions made by signs there may be slips of memory.

^*-** From my doctrine there follows a cure for pride. We are only
to be praised for those things which are our own, or of our own
doing — natural abilitys are not consequences of our volitions.

M. Mem. Candidly to take notice that Locke holds some dangerous
opinions; such as the infinity and eternity of Space — the possi-
bility of Matter's thinking ^e.

^' Once more I desire my reader may be upon his guard against

the fallacy of words. Let him beware that I do not impose on
him by plausible empty talk, that common dangerous way of
cheating men into absurditys. Let him not regard my words

'^^ 'without the mind,' i.e. abstracted ^^ See Locke's Es$ay, Bk. II. ch. 13.

from, or irrelative to all mind and volition § C-I, ch. 17. § 4; also Bk. IV. ch. 3. § 6 ;

— Divine and finite. also his controversy with Bishop Stillingfleet

''* e. g. secondary qualities of sensible regarding the possibility of Matter having

things, in which pleasure and pain are in the power of thinking. With Berkeley

greater proportion. space is as much a creature as visible or

*^ e. g. primary qualities, in which plea- tangible things,
sure and pain are in less proportion.

VOL. IV. G g

450 Commonplace Book.

any otherwise than as occasions of bringing into his mind
determin'd significations. So far as they fail of this they are
gibberish, jargon, & deserve not the name of language. I desire
& warn him not to expect to find truth in my book, or anywhere
but in his own mind. W*ever I see myself 'tis impossible I
can paint it out in words.

Mo. N.B. To consider well w* is meant by that w'='> Locke saith
concerning algebra — that it supplys intermediate ideas. Also to
think of a method affording the same use in morals &c. that
this doth in mathematiques.

Mo. Homo is not proved to be 'vivens by means of any intermediate
idea. I don't fully agree w'^ Locke in w* he says concerning
sagacity in finding out intermediate ideas in matter capable of
demonstration & the use thereof- as if that were the onely means
of improving and enlarging demonstrative knowledge.

S. There is a difference betwixt power & volition. There may

be volition without power. But there can be no power without
volition. Power implyeth volition, & at the same time a con-
notation of the effects following the volition.

M. We have assuredly an idea of substance. 'Twas absurd of

S. Locke 9^ to think we had a name without a meaning. This might
prove acceptable to the Stillingfleetians.

M. The substance of Body we know ^. The substance of Spirit we

S. do not know — it not being knowable, it being a purus actus.

L Words have ruin'd and overrun all the sciences — law, physique,

chymistry, astrology, &c.

L Abstract ideas only to be had amongst the learned. The vulgar

never think they have any such, nor truly do they find any want
of them. Genera & species & abstract ideas are terms unknown
to them.

S. Locke's out 2 — the case is different. We can have an idea of

i body without motion, but not of soul without thought.

M|). God ought to be worship'd. This easily demonstrated when
once we ascertain the signification of the words God, worship,
ought.

'^8 Essay, Bk. I. ch. iv. § i8. See also stitutes a sensible thing.
Locke's Letters to Stillingfleet. 2 Essay, Bk. II. ch. i. § lo— where he

' It is, according to Berkeley, the steadily argues against the constancy or continuity

maintained union of various sense-given phe- of consciousness in men.
nomena, involving universality, which con-

Commonplace Book. 451

No perception, according to Locke, is active. Therefore no
perception (i. e. no idea) can be the image or like unto that
which is altogether active & not at all passive, i. e. the Will.

I can will the calling to mind something that is past, tho' at
the same time that w^h I call to mind was not in my thoughts
before that volition of mine, & consequently I could have had
no uneasiness for the want of it.

The Will & the Understanding may very well be thought two
distinct beings.

Sed quia voluntas raro agit nisi ducente desiderio. V. Locke,
Epistles, p. 479, ad Limburgum.

You cannot say the m. t. is like or one with the m. v., because
they be both minima, just perceiv'd, and next door to nothing.
You may as well say the m. t. is the same with or like unto a
sound, so small that it is scarce perceiv'd.

Extension seems to be a mode of some tangible or sensible
quality according as it is seen or felt.

The spirit — the active thing — that weh is soul, & God — is
the Will alone. The ideas are effects — impotent things.

The concrete of the will & understanding I might call mind,
not person, lest offence be given — there being but one volition
acknowledged to be God. Mem. Carefully to omit defining of
person, or making much mention of it.

You ask, do these volitions make one Will ? W* you ask is
meerly about a word — unity being no more ^.

N.B. To use utmost caution not to give the least handle of
offence to the Church or Churchmen.

Even to speak somewhat favourably of the Schoolmen, and shew
that they who blame them for jargon are not free of it themselves.
Introd.

Locke's great oversight seems to be that he did not begin with
his third book, at least that he had not some thought of it at
first. Certainly the 2^ & 4*^ books don't agree w^h w* he says in

ye 3d.

^ Does this resolve the difFerence between a succession of volitions and an identical
person into an affair of words ?

Gg 2

452 Commonplace Book.

M. If Matter* is once allow'd to exist, clippings of weeds and parings
of nails may think, for ought that Locke can tell — tho' he seems
positive of the contrary.

Since I say men cannot mistake in short reasoning about things
demonstrable, if they lay aside words, it will be expected this
Treatise will contain nothing but w* is certain & evident de-
monstration, & in truth I hope you will find nothing in it but
what is such. Certainly I take it all for such. Introd.

!• When I say I will reject all propositions wherein I know not

fully and adequately and clearly, so far as knowable, the thing
meant thereby, this is not to be extended to propositions in the
Scripture. I speak of matters of Reason and Philosophy — not
Revelation. In this I think an humble, implicit faith becomes
us (when we cannot comprehend or understand the proposi-
tion), such as a popish peasant gives to propositions he hears
at mass in Latin. This proud men may call blind, popish,
implicit, irrational. For my part I think it is more irrational
to pretend to dispute at, cavil, and ridicule holy mysteries, i. e.
propositions about things that are altogether above our know-
ledge, out of our reach. When I shall come to plenary knowledge
of the meaning of any fact, then I shall yield an explicit belief.
Introd -^

Complexation of ideas twofold. Ys refers to colours being
complex ideas.

Considering length without breadth is considering any length,
be the breadth w* it will.

M. I may say earth, plants, &c. were created before man — there
being other intelligences to perceive them before man was
created 6.

Mv' There is a philosopher'^ who says we can get an idea of sub-
stance by no way of sensation or reflection, & seems to imagine
that we want a sense proper for it. Truly if we had a new
sense it could only give us a new idea. Now I suppose he will

* i. e. unperceived Matter, with its sup- periods ? Why should there be any greater
posed powers. difficulty to Berkeley in these than in ex-

° Nothing exactly corresponding to this plaining the existence of a table or a house,

and the preceding in the Introduction or while one is merely looking at it ?

Preface to the Principles or to the Dialogues. ' Locke, who describes ' substance ' as

For what is said on faith, cf. Alcipbron, ' only an uncertain supposition of we know

Dial. VII., and the Analyst. not what.' Essay, Bk. I. ch. 4. § i8.

* But what of the earliest geological

Commonplace Book. 453

not say substance, according to him, is an idea. For my part,
I own I have no idea can stand for substance in his and the
Schoolmen's sense of that word. But take it in the common
vulgar sense, & then we see and feel substance.

N.B. That not common usage, but the Schoolmen coined the
word Existence, supposed to stand for an abstract general idea.

Writers of Optics mistaken in their principles both in judging
of magnitudes and distances.

'Tis evident y*^ w° the solitary man should be taught to speak,
the words would give him no other new ideas (save only the
sounds, and complex ideas which, tho' unknown before, may be
signified by language) beside w* he had before. If he had not,
could not have, an abstract idea before, he cannot have it after
he is taught to speak.

' Homo est homo,' &c. comes at last to Petrus est Petrus, &c.
Now, if these identical propositions are sought after in the
mind, they will not be found. There are no identical mental
, propositions. 'Tis all about sounds and terms.

Hence we see the doctrine ^ of certainty by ideas, and proving
by intermediate ideas, comes to nothing.

We may have certainty & knowledge without ideas, i. e. without
other ideas than the words, and their standing for one idea, i. e,
their being to be used indifferently.
3. It seems to me that we have no certainty about ideas, but
only about words. 'Tis improper to say, I am certain I see, I
feel, ^c. There are no mental propositions form'd answering to
these words, & in simple perception 'tis allowed by all there is
no affirmation or negation, and consequently no certainty ^.
o. The reason why we can demonstrate so well about signs is,
that they are perfectly arbitrary & in our power — made at pleasure.
o. The obscure ambiguous term relation, which is said to be the
largest field of knowledge, confounds us, deceives us.

^ Locke, who makes it consist in the criterion of their truth. Berkeley's philo-

agreement of ' our ideas with the reaUty of sophy of reality was intended to relieve this

things.' See Essay, Bk. IV. ch. 4. § 18. scepticism.

Here the ancient and modern sceptical objec- ^ [This seems wrong. Certainty, real

tion rises — that if we have no immediate certainty, is of sensible ideas. I may' be

perception of the very reality, we cannot certain without affirmation or negation.] —

compare our ideas with it, and so have no Author. This seems to need qualification.

454 Comnwnplace Book.

Mo. Let any man shew me a demonstration, not verbal, that does
not depend either on some false principle, or at best on some
principle of nature which is ye eflFect of God's will, and we
know not how soon it may be changed.

I. Qu. What becomes of the aternjs veritates ? Ans. They

vanish '^^.

I. But, say you, I find it difficult to look beneath the words and

uncover my ideas. Say I, Use will make it easy. In the sequel
of my Book the cause of this diflSculty shall be more clearly
made out.

I. To view the deformity of error we need onely undress it.

E. * Cogito ergo sum.' Tautology. No mental proposition
answering thereto ^^.

N. Knowledge, or certainty, or perception of agreement of ideas

Mo. as to identity and diversity, and real existence vanisheth, of
relation becometh merely nominal, of co-existence remaineth.
Locke thought in this later our knowledge was little or nothing.
Whereas in this only real knowledge seemeth to be found ^^.

P. We must w*^ the mob place certainty in the senses.

'Tis a man's duty, 'tis the fruit of friendship, to speak well of
his friend. Wonder not therefore that I do w* I do.

L A man of slow parts may overtake truth, &c. Introd. Even

my shortsightedness might perhaps be aiding to me in this matter
— 'twill make me bring the object nearer to my thoughts. A pur-
blind person, &c. Intrcd.

^- Locke to Limborch, &c. Talk of judicium intellectus preceding

the volition: I think judicium includes volition. I can by no
means distinguish t\ies,e^udicium^ intellectus.^ indifferentia^ un-
easiness to many things accompanying or preceding every volition,
as e. g. the motion of my hand.

5_ Qu. W* mean you by my perceptions, my volitions ? Both all

the perceptions I perceive or conceive ^2, Sec are mine 5 all the
volitions I am conscious to are mine.

»» This and the preceding apparently re- " Not so, if read 2iS= Ego sum cogitans.

solve all judgments which are not what Kant '^ g^g Locke's Essay, Bk. IV. ch. i, and

calls analytical into contingent judgments. ch. 3. § 9. The stress Berkeley here lays

Are those then which are involved in Ber- on 'co-existence' is significant,
kele/s own Principle— which express the ^ But is a mere imagination equivalent

need for active and percipient Mind, as the con- to perception, and different from it only in

stant correlative, and the only proper cause degree ?
in the universe — are those contingent too ?

Commonplace Book. 455

' Homo est agens liberum.' What mean they by homo and
agens in this place ?

Will any man say that brutes have the ideas — Unity &
Existence ? I believe not. Yet if they are suggested by all the
ways of sensation, 'tis strange they should want them ^•*.

It is a strange thing and deserves our attention, that the more
time and pains men have consum'd in the study of philosophy,
by so much the more they look upon themselves to be ignorant
& weak creatures. They discover flaws and imperfections in
their faculties wch other men never spy out. They find them-
selves under a necessity of admitting many inconsistent, irre-
concilable opinions for true. There is nothing they touch with
their hand^ or behold with their eyes, but has its dark sides
much larger and more numerous than w' is perceived, & at length
turn scepticks, at least in most things. I imagine all this pro-
ceeds from, &c. Exord. Introd.i'5

These men with a supercilious pride disdain the common single
information of sense. They grasp at knowledge by sheafs &
bundles. ('Tis well if, catching at too much at once, they hold
nothing but emptiness & air.) They in the depth of their under-
standing contemplate abstract ideas.

It seems not improbable that the most comprehensive & sublime
intellects see more m.v.'s at once, i. e. that their visual systems
are the largest.

Words (by them meaning all sorts of signs) are so necessary,
that instead of being (w° duly us'd or in their own nature) pre-
judicial to the advancement of knowledge, or an hindrance to
knowledge, that without them there could in mathematiques them-
selves be no demonstration.

Mem. To be eternally banishing Metaphisics, &c., and recalling
men to Common Sense i^.

We cannot conceive other minds besides our own but as so
many selves. We suppose ourselves affected w*'^ such & such
thoughts & such and such sensations ^''.

" Cf. Principles, sect. 13, 120. to rid the world of mere abstractions, and to

*5 Cf. Principles, Introduction, sect. I. return, through reflection, to concrete reality

*^ This is the professed design of Berke- in its constant relation to living Spirit,
ley's concrete metaphysics, in which he seeks " One sort of external world that is

456 Commonplace Book.

S. Qu. whether composition of ideas be not that faculty which

chiefly serves to discriminate us from brutes ? I question whether
a brute does or can imagine a blue horse or chimera.

Naturalists do not distinguish betwixt cause and occasion.
Useful to enquire after co-existing ideas or occasions.
Mo. Morality may be demonstrated as mixt mathematics.
S. Perception is passive, but this not distinct from idea. There-

fore there can be no idea of volition.

Algebraic species or letters are denominations of denominations.
Therefore Arithmetic to be treated of before Algebra.

3 crowns are called ten shillings. Hence may appear the value
of numbers.

Complex ideas are the creatures of the mind. Hence may
appear the nature of numbers. This to be deeply discuss'd.

I am better informed & shall know more by telling me there
are 10,000 men, than by shewing me them all drawn up. I
shall better be able to judge of the bargain you'd have me make
w° you tell me how much (i. e. the name of ye) money lies on
the table, than by offering and shewing it without naming. I
regard not the idea, the looks, but the names. Hence may appear
the nature of numbers.

Children are unacquainted with numbers till they have made
some progress in language. This could not be if they were ideas
suggested by all the senses.

Numbers are nothing but names — never words.

Mem. Imaginary roots — to unravel that mystery.

Ideas of utility are annexed to numbers.

In arithmetical problems men seek not any idea of number.
They only seek a denomination. This is all can be of use to
them.

Take away the signs from Arithmetic and Algebra, and pray wt
remains ?

These are sciences purely verbal, and entirely useless but for
practice in societies of men. No speculative knowledge, no com-
paring of ideas in them ^^.

conceivable by us is that of which another with them, in physical or in moral science,

mind is percipient — because we have the ours become assimilated to them,

archetype of this in our own experience — i* Cf. Berkeley's Arithmetica and Miscel-

which, ex hypothesi, we have not of unper- lanea Mathei7iatica, and various passages in

ceived Matter ; but which we may have of his following works,
the Divine Ideas, so far as by participation

Commonplace Book. 457

Qu. whether Geometry may not properly be reckon'd amongst
the mixt mathematics — Arithmetic & Algebra being the only
abstracted pure, i. e. entirely nominal — Geometry being an
application of these to points ^^ ?

o. Locke of Trifling Propositions. \h. 4. c. 8] Mem. Well to
observe & con over that chapter.

Existence, Extension, &c. are abstract, i. e. no ideas. They
are words, unknown and useless to the vulgar.

[o. Sensual pleasure is the summum bonum. This the great principle
of morality. This once rightly understood, all the doctrines, even
the severest of the Gospels, may clearly be demonstrated.

lo. Sensual pleasure, qua pleasure, is good & desirable by a wise
man 2*5. But if it be contemptible, 'tis not qua pleasure but qua
pain, or cause of pain, or (which is the same thing) of loss of
greater pleasure.

W'> I consider, the more objects we see at once the more
distant they are, and that eye which beholds a great many things
can see none of them near.

By idea I mean any sensible or imaginable thing 21.

To be sure or certain of w^ we do not actually perceive-- (1 say
perceive, not imagine), we must not be altogether passive, there
must be a disposition to act, there must be assent, w"''' is active.
Nay, what do I talk ! there must be actual volition.

What do we demonstrate in Geometry but that lines are equal
or unequal ? i. e. may or may not be called by the same name ^s.

I approve of this axiom of the Schoolmen, ' Nihil est in intel-
^' lectu quod non prius fuit in sensu.' I wish they had stuck to it.
It had never taught them the doctrine of abstract ideas 2^.

*' Minima sensibilia. ^^ e. g. of what we believe in mediate or

*" All pleasures, qua pleasures, are neces- acquired perceptions,

sarily productive of correlative desires, as " Here as elsewhere he resolves geometry,

pains or uneasinesses are of correlative aver- so far as demonstrative, into a system of

sions. This is implied in the very nature of analytical and hypothetical judgments ; so

pleasure and pain. far as concerned with what is real, into con-

'^^ Here is Berkeley's definition of idea, tingent judgments.

The want of separate terms for things sen- '* Compare this remarkable statement

sible, and things imagined led to confusion. with Siris, sect. 308, and with the contrast

458 Commonplace Book.

S. ' Nihil dat quod non habet/ or, the effect is contained in the

G. cause, is an axiom I do not understand or believe to be true.

E. Whoever shall cast his eyes on the writings of old or new

philosophers, and see the noise is made about formal and objective

Being, Will, ^c.
G. Absurd to argue the existence of God from his idea. We have

no idea of God. 'Tis impossible ^5.
M. Cause of much errour & confusion that men knew not what
£. was meant by Reality '-^^
I. Des Cartes, in Med. 2, says the notion of this particular wax is

less clear than that of wax in general j and in the same Med., a

little before, he forbears to consider bodies in general, because

(says he) these general conceptions are usually confused.
]\4^ Des Cartes, in Med. 3, calls himself a thinking substance, and
S. a stone an extended substance j and adds that they both agree in

this, that they are substances. And in the next paragraph he calls

extension a mode of substance.
S. 'Tis commonly said by the philosophers, that if the soul of man

were self-existent it would have given itself all possible perfection.

This I do not understand.
Mo. Mem. To excite men to the pleasures of the eye & the ear,

which surfeit not, nor bring those evils after them, as others.
S. We see no variety or difference betwixt the volitions, only

between their effects. 'Tis one Will, one Act, distinguished by

the effects. This Will, this Act, is the spirit, operative principle,

soul, &c. No mention of fears and jealousies, nothing like a

party.
M. Locke in his 4th Book^"', and Des Cartes in Med. 6, use the same

argument for the existence of objects, viz. that sometimes we see,

feel, ficc. against our will.
S. While I exist or have any idea, I am eternally, constantly

willing; my acquiescing in the present state is willing.
E, The existence of any thing imaginable is nothing different from

imagination or perception ^s. Volition or Will, w"^"^ is not im-

between Sense and Reason, in the preceding uses idea — would imply that God is a phe-

and following sections of that treatise. But nomenon.
how is the statement consistent even with the '* Cf. Principles, sect. 8q.

constructive assumptions of the Principles! "" Ch. II. § 5.

''^ To have an idea of God — as Berkeley ^^ Why add — 'or perception'?

Commonplace Book. 459

aginable, regard must not be had to its existence * * * first
Book.

There are four sorts of propositions. *GoId is a metal j^ 'Gold
is yellow;' 'Gold is fixt;' 'Gold is not a stone' — of which the
first, second, and third are only nominal, and have no mental
propositions answering them.

Mem. In vindication of the senses effectually to confute what
Des Cartes saith in the last par. of the last Med., viz. that the
senses oftener inform him falsely than truely — that sense of pain
tells me not my foot is bruised or broken, but I, having frequently
observed these two ideas, viz. of that peculiar pain and bruised
foot go together, do erroneously take them to be inseparable by
a necessity of nature, — as if nature were anything but the ordin-
ance of the free will of God 2^.

Des Cartes owns we know not a substance immediately by
itself, but by this alone, that it is the subject of several acts. Ans.
to 1^ objection of Hobbs.

Hobbs in some degree falls in with Locke, saying thought is
to the mind or himself as dancing to the dancer. Object.

Hobbs in his Object. 3 ridicules those expressions of the
scholastiques — 'the will wills,' &c. So does Locke. I am of
another mind ^^.

Des Cartes, in answer to Object. 3 of Hobbs, owns he is distinct
from thought as a thing from its modus or manner.

Opinion that existence was distinct from perception of horrible
consequence. It is the foundation of Hobbs's doctrine, &c.

Malbranch in his illustration'^^ differs widely from me. He
doubts of the existence of bodies. I doubt not in the least of
this.

I differ from Cartesians in that I make extension, colour, &c.
to exist really in bodies independent of our mind^^. All y' carefully
and lucidly to be set forth.

""^ Here we have Berkeley's arbitrariness must be a preceding volition, and so on ad

in the coexistences and sequences of sen- infinitum ; while what is asserted is, that this

sible phenomena, the favourite thought acting is the one proper, because inde-

which runs through the Theory of Vision, pendent, sort of action, which needs no

and his whole philosophy of the sensible previous activity,
world. 31 Recherche, I. 19.

•" This against the quibble, that if ''^ i. e. mind is different from its sense-

(voluntary) acting is self-originated, its cause given phenomena.

460 Commonplace Book.

M, Not to mention the combinations of powers, but to say the
?• things, the effects themselves, do really exist, even w" not actually
perceived, but still with relation to perception "^.

The great use of the Indian figures above the Roman shews
arithmetic to be about signs, not ideas — or not ideas different
from the characters themselves ^*.

M. Reasoning there may be about things, or ideas, or actions — but

N. demonstration can be only verbal. I question, no matter &c.

G. Quoth Des Cartes, the idea of God is not made by me, for I
can neither add to nor subtract from it. No more can he add
to or take from any other idea, even of his own making.

S. The not distinguishing 'twixt Will and ideas is a grand mistake

with Hobbs. He takes those things for nothing which are not
ideas ^^\

y[^ Say you. At this rate all's nothing but idea — mere phantasm.
I answer. Everything as real as ever. I hope to call a thing idea
makes it not the less real. Truly I should perhaps have stuck
to the word thing, and not mentioned the word idea, were it not
for a reason, and I think a good one too, which I shall give in
the Second Book^^.

I. Idea is the object or subject of thought. Y* I think on, what-

S. ever it be, I call idea. Thought itself, or thinking, is no idea.
'Tis an act, i. e. volition, i. e. as contradistinguished to effects —
the Will.

I. Locke, in B. 4. c. 5, assigns not the right cause why mental

^o- propositions are so difficult. It is not because of complex but
because of abstract ideas. Ye idea of a horse is as complex as
that of fortitude. Yet in saying the * horse is white' I form a
mental proposition with ease. But when I say « fortitude is a
virtue,' I shall find a mental proposition hard, or not at all to
be come at.

S. Pure intellect I understand not ^7.

^ i. e. to a conscious mind, but not ne- tivists as they are now called,

cessarily to mine ; for they are independent ^^ Is this Part II. of the Principles f

of my will, and I only participate in the ^7 The thought of uncreated or necessary

perception of them. relations, to which all actual existence must

^* Cf. the Arithmetica. conform, but which are realizable only in

'5 i. e. which are not phenomena. This their actual applications, was not then at

recognition of Will even then distinguished least in Berkeley's mind.
Berkeley from the phenomenalists, or posi-

Commonplace Book. 461

Locke is in y® right in those things wherein he diflFers from
y® Cartesians, and they cannot but allow of his opinions if they
stick to their own principles or causes of Existence & other ab-
stract ideas.

The properties of all things are in God, i. e. there is in the
Deity Understanding as well as Will. He is no blind agent, and
in truth a blind agent is a contradiction 2^.

I am certain there is a God, tho' I do not perceive Him — have
no intuition of Him. This not difficult if we rightly understand
w* is meant by certainty.

It seems that the soul, taken for the Will, is immortal, in-
corruptible.

Qu. whether perception must of necessity precede volition ?
Error is not in the Understanding, but in the Will. What I

'lo- understand or perceive, that I understand. There can be no
errour in this.

/Jo. Mem. To take notice of Locke's woman afraid of a wetting, in

^. the Introd., to shew there may be reasoning about ideas or things.

A. Say Des Cartes & Malbranch, God hath given us strong
inclinations to think our ideas proceed from bodies, or that bodies
do exist. Pray w' mean they by this ? Would they have it that
the ideas of imagination are images of, and proceed from, the
ideas of sense? This is true, but cannot be their meaning, for
they speak of ideas of sense themselves as proceeding from, being
like unto — I know not w* ^9.

Vl. Cartesius per ideam vult omne id quod habet esse objectivum

>. in intellectu. V. Tract, de Methodo.

). Qu. May there not be an Understanding without a Will ?

). Understanding is in some sort an action.

). Silly of Hobbs, 6cc. to speak of the Will as if it were motion,

with which it has no likeness.

VI. Ideas of sense are the real things or archetypes. Ideas of
imagination, dreams, &c. are copies, images of these.

M, My doctrines rightly understood, all that philosophy of Epicurus,

•"" This assumption is the essence of Ber- ing for a direct perception of some of the

keley's philosophy — 'a bUnd agent is a phenomena of which a ' perceived ' sensible

contradiction.' thing is composed.

^^ This is the basis of Berkeley's reason-

462 Commonplace Book.

Hobbs, Spinosa, &c., which has been a declared enemy of religion,
comes to the ground.

G. Hobbs & Spinosa make God extended. Locke also seems to
do the same ^^\

I. Ens, res, aliquid dicuntur termini transcendentales. Spinosa,

E. p. 76, prop. 40, Eth. part 2, gives an odd account of their original.
Also of the original of all universals — Homo, Canis, &c.

G. Spinosa (vid. Praef. Opera Posthum.) will have God to be
' omnium rerum causa immanens,' and to countenance this pro-
duces that of St. Paul, * in Him we live,' &c. Now this of St.
Paul may be explained by my doctrine as well as Spinosa's, or
Locke's, or Hobbs's, or Raphson's ^1, &c.

S. The Will is purus actuSj or rather pure spirit not imaginable, not

sensible, not intelligible, in no wise the object of the understand-
ing, no wise perceivable.

S. Substance of a spirit is that it acts, causes^ wills, operates, or

if you please (to avoid the quibble y* may be made of the word
' it ') to act, cause, will, operate. Its substance is not knowable,
not being an idea.

G. Why may we not conceive it possible for God to create things
out of nothing ? Certainly we ourselves create in some wise when-
ever we imagine.
E. * Ex nihilo nihil fit.' This (saith Spinoza, Opera Posth. p. 464)
N. and the like are called verltates atern^j because ' nullam fidem
habent extra mentem.' To make this axiom have a positive
signification, one should express it thus : Every idea has a cause,
i. e. is produced by a Will *2.

P. The philosophers talk much of a distinction 'twixt absolute &

relative things, or 'twixt things considered in their own nature
&: the same things considered with respect to us. I know not

^ Berkeley's horror of absolute space and Cf. p. I77- See also Green's Principles of

atoms is partly explained by now antiquated Natural Philosophy (17 12).
dogmas of his age, in natural philosophy. *^ It is then and thus only that this

^' Ralph [?] Raphson, author of Demon- truism can become applicable. Note here

s<ra//o rfe Z)eo (17 10), and also oi De S patio Berkeley's version of the causal axiom,

Reali, seu ente Infinito : conamen mathe- which is really the constitutive principle of

matico-metapbysicum (1697), to which Ber- his whole philosophy — viz. every phenome-

keley refers in one of his letters to Johnson. non is sustained by a free intelligent agent.

Commonplace Book. 463

w* they mean by ' things considered in themselves.' This is
nonsense, jargon.

It seems there can be no perception — no idea — without Will,
seeing there are no ideas so indifferent but one had rather have
them than annihilation, or annihilation than them. Or if there
be such an equal balance, there must be an equal mixture of
pleasure and pain to cause it — there being no ideas perfectly
void of all pain & uneasiness but w' are preferable to anni-
hilation.

Recipe in animum tuum, per cogitationem vehementem, rerum
ipsarum, non literarum aut sonorum imagines. Hobbs against
Wallis.

'Tis a perfection we may imagine in superior spirits, that they
can see a great deal at once with the utmost clearness and dis-
tinction, whereas we can only see a point ^^.

Mem. W"^ I treat of mathematiques to enquire into the con-
troversy 'twixt Hobbes and Wallis.

Every sensation of mine which happens in consequence of the
general known laws of nature, & is from without, i. e. inde-
pendent of my will, demonstrates the being of a God, i. e. of
an unextended, incorporeal spirit, which is omnipresent, omni-
potent, &c.

I say not with J. S. [John Sergeant] that we see solids. I reject
his 'solid philosophy' — solidity being only perceived by touch -»^,

F It seems to me that will and understanding — volitions & ideas
— cannot be severed, that either cannot be possibly without the
other.

Some ideas or other I must have, so long as I exist or will.
But no one idea or sort of ideas being essential.

The distinction between idea and ideatum I cannot otherwise
conceive than by making one the effect or consequence of dream.

" So Locke on a perfect memory. Essay, Method to Science (1696). He was a de-

Bk. II. ch. X. § 9. serter from the Church of England to the

■" John Sergeant was the author of Solid Church of Rome, and wrote several pieces

Philosophy asserted against the Fancies of in defence of Roman theology — some of

the Ideists (London, 1697); also of The them in controversy with Tillotson.

464 Commonplace Book.

reverie, imagination — the other of sense and the constant laws
of nature.

P. Dico quod extensio non concipitur in se et per se, contra quam

dicit Spinoza in Epist. 1^ ad Oldenburgium.
G. My definition of the word God I think much clearer than that

of Des Cartes & Spinoza, viz. ' Ens summe perfectum & absolute

infinitum,' or ' Ens constans infinitis attributis, quorum unum-

quodque est infinitum ^^.'

'Tis chiefly the connexion betwixt tangible and visible ideas
that deceives, and not the visible ideas themselves.

S. But the grand mistake is that we know not what we mean

by ' we,' or * selves,' or ' mind,' 6cc. ■'Tis most sure & certain
that our ideas are distinct from the mind, i. e. the Will, the
Spirit.

S. I must not mention the understanding as a faculty or part of

the mind. I must include understanding & will in the word
Spirit — by which I mean all that is active. I must not say that
the understanding diflFers not from the particular ideas, or the
will from particular volitions.

S. The Spirit, the Mind, is neither a volition nor an idea.

N. I say there are no causes (properly speaking) but spiritual,

S. nothing active but Spirit. Say you. This is only verbal j 'tis only
annexing a new sort of signification to the word cause — & why
may not others as well retain the old one, and call one idea
the cause of another which always follows it ? I answer. If you
do so I shall drive you into many absurditys. I say you cannot
avoid running into opinions you'll be glad to disown, if you stick
firmly to that signification of the word cause.

Mo. In valuing good we reckon too much on the present & our
own.

Mo. There be two sorts of pleasure. The one is ordained as a spur
or incitement to somewhat else, & has a visible relation and
subordination thereto j the other is not. Thus the pleasure of

" See Des Cartes, Meditations, III ; Spinoza, Epist. II, ad Oldenburgium.

Commonplace Book. 465

eating is of the former sort, of musick of the later sort. These
may be used for recreation, those not but in order to their end.
:°' Three sorts of useful knowledge — that of coexistence, to be

* treated of in our Principles of Natural Philosophy j that of relation
in Mathematiques ; that of definition, or inclusion, or words (which
perhaps differs not from that of relation) in Morality.

Will, understanding, desire, hatred, &c., so far forth as they
are acts or active, differ not. All their difference consists in
their objects, circumstances, &c.

r. We must carefully distinguish betwixt two sorts of causes —
physical & spiritual.

r. Those may more properly be called occasions. Yet (to comply)
we may call them causes — but then we must mean causes yt do
nothing.

According to Locke, we must be in an eternal uneasiness so
long as we live, bating the time of sleep or trance, &c. ; for he
will have even the continuance of an action to be in his sense
an action, & so requires a volition, & this an uneasiness.

I must not pretend to promise much of demonstration. I must
cancell all passages that look like that sort of pride, that raising
of expectation in my friend.

If this be the case, surely a man had better not philosophize
at all ; no more than a deformed person ought to cavil to behold
himself by the reflex light of a mirrour.

Or thus, like deformed persons who, having beheld themselves
by the reflex light of a mirrour, as displeased with their diseases.
4. What can an idea be like but another idea ? We can compare
it with nothing else — a sound like a sound, a colour like a colour.
1. Is it not nonsense to say a smell is like a thing which cannot
be smelt, a colour is like a thing wh cannot be seen ?

/I. Bodies exist without the mind, i. e. are not the mind, but distinct

• from it. This I allow, the mind being altogether different there-
from.

Certainly we should not see motion if there was no diversity of
colours.

VOL. IV. H h

466 Commonplace Book.

P. Motion is an abstract idea, i. e. there is no such idea that can

be conceived by itself.
I. Contradictions cannot be both true. Men are obliged to answer

objections drawn from consequences. Introd.
S. The Will and Volition are words not used by the vulgar.

The learned are bantered by their meaning abstract ideas.

Speculative Math, as if a man was all day making hard knots

on purpose to unty them again.

Tho' it might have been otherwise, yet it is convenient the

same thing wdi is M. V. should be also M. T., or very near it.
S. I must not give the soul or mind the scholastique name * pure

act/ but rather pure spirit, or active being.
S. I must not say the Will or Understanding are all one, but that

they are both abstract ideas, i. e. none at all — they not being even

ratione different from the spirit, qua faculties, or active.
S. Dangerous to make idea 6c thing terms convertible. That

were the way to prove spirits are nothing.
Mo. Qu. whether Veritas stands not for an abstract idea ?

M. 'Tis plain the moderns must by their own principles own there
are no bodies, i. e. no sort of bodies without the mind, i. e unper-
ceived.

S. Qu. whether the Will can be the object of prescience or any

G. knowledge ?

P. If there were only one ball in the world, it could not be moved.

There could be no variety of appearance.

According to the doctrine of infinite divisibility, there must be
some smell of a rose, v. g. at an infinite distance from it.

M. Extension, tho' it exist only in the mind, yet is no property of
the mind. The mind can exist without it, tho' it cannot without
the mind *''\ But in Book II. I shall at large shew the difference
there is betwixt the soul and body or extended being

S. 'Tis an absurd question w'^'i Locke puts, whether man be free to

will?

** This is one way in which Berkeley scious mind. Does not Ferrier misconceive

expresses the subordination of sensible things him here ? See his Institutes of Meta-

to mind : conscious mind is possible in the physics, pp. 389 — 390, where he says that

absence of all that is sensible, but sensible Berkeley's ontology invests the Deity with

phenomena are not possible without con- such senses as belong to man.

Commonplace Book. 467

Mem. To enquire into the reason of the rule for determining
questions in Algebra.

It has already been observed by others that names are nowhere
of more necessary use than in numbering.

I will grant you that extension, colour, &c. may be said to be
without the mind in a double respect, i. e. as independent of our
will, and as distinct from the mind '^'^.

Certainly it is not impossible but a man may arrive at the
knowledge of all real truth as well without as with signs, had he
a memory and imagination most strong and capacious. Therefore
reasoning & science doth not altogether depend upon words or
names *^.

I think not that things fall out of necessity. The connexion of
no two ideas is necessary, 'tis all the result of freedom, i. e. 'tis
all voluntary ^^.

If a man with his eyes shut imagines to himself the sun &
firmament, you will not say he or his mind is the sun or extended,
tho' neither sun or firmament be without his mind ^^.

'Tis strange to find philosophers doubting & disputing whether
they have ideas of spiritual things or no. Surely 'tis easy to know.
Vid. De Vries ^^, I>e Ide'ts Innatts^ p. 64.

De Vries will have it that we know the mind agrees with things
not by idea but sense or conscientia. So will Malbranch. This
a vain distinction.

August 28th, 1708. The Adventure of the [Shirt?].

It were to be wished that persons of the greatest birth, honour,
& fortune, would take that care of themselves by education,
industry, literature, & a love of virtue, to surpass all other men

*' This double duality, with some vacilla- *^ This is fundamental in Berkeley,

tion of expression, runs through Berkeley. '"'^ The dependence of extension upon per-

" Berkeley always insists that we should ception does not imply that extension is an

keep our thinking as much as possible in- attribute of mind — which throws some light

tuitive of the individual objects which our on what Berkeley means by the existence of

words denote — ' ipsis consuescere rebus,' as sense-ideas 'in a mind' — that suj generis

Bacon says, — to escape the dangers of relation. But his language here tends to

artificial signs. This is the drift of his confuse perception with imagination,

attacks on abstract ideas. ^^ Gerard De Vries, the Cartesian.

H h 2

468 Commonplace Book.

in knowledge & all other qualifications necessary for great actions
as far as they do in qua ity & titles j that princes out of them
might always chose men fit for all employments and high trusts.
Clov. B. 7.

One eternity greater than another of the same kind.
In what sense eternity may be limited.
G. T. Whether succession of ideas in the Divine intellect ?
T. Time, train of ideas succeeding each other.
Duration not distinguish'd from existence.
Succession explainM by before, between, after, & numbering.
Why time in pain longer than time in pleasure ?
Duration infinitely divisible, time not so.
T. The same to vvv not common to all intelligences.

Time thought infinitely divisible on account of its measure.
Extension not infinitely divisible in one sense.
Revolutions immediately measure train of ideas, mediately
duration.
T. Time a sensation, therefore onely in y^ mind.

Eternity is onely a train of innumerable ideas. Hence the
immortality of ye soul easily conceiv'd, or rather the immortality
of the person, that of ye soul not being necessary for ought we
can see.

Swiftness of ideas compar'd with y* of motions shews the wisdom
of God.

W* if succession of ideas were swifter, w* if slower?
M. ffall of Adam, use of idolatry, use of Epicurism & Hobbism,
dispute about divisibility of matter, &c. expounded by material
substances.

Extension a sensation, therefore not without the mind.
M. In the immaterial hypothesis, the wall is white, fire hot, &c.

Primary ideas prov'd not to exist in matter, after the same
manner y* secondary ones are prov'd not to exist therein.

Dem.onstrations of the infinite divisibility of extension suppose
length without breadth, or invisible length, wch is absurd.
M. World w"'out thought is nee qu'td^ nee quantum^ nee quale^ &c.
M. 'Tis wondrous to contemplate ye World empty'd of intelligences ^2.

'■"^ Of all mind — Divine and finite?

Commonplace Book. 469

Nothing properly but Persons, i. e. conscious things, do exist.
All other things are not so much existences as manners of y^
existence of persons ^^. *

Qu. about the soul, or rather person, whether it be not com-
pleatly known?

Infinite divisibility of extension does suppose the external ex-
istence of extension j but the later is false, ergo y" former also.

Qu. Blind man made to see, would he know motion at i^*^
sight ?

Motion, figure, and extension perceivable by sight are different
from those ideas perceived by touch w'^'^ goe by the same name.

Diagonal incommensurable w*^ y*' side. Qusere how this can
be in my doctrine ?

Qu. how to reconcile Newton's 2 sorts of motion with my
doctrine ?

Terminations of surfaces & lines not imaginable per se.

Molyneux's blind man would not know the sphere or cube to
be bodies or extended at first sight ^^.

Extension so far from being incompatible w'^, yt 'tis impossible
it should exist without thought.

Extension itself or anything extended cannot think — these being
meer ideas or sensations, whose essence we thoroughly know.

No extension but surface perceivable by sight.

W° we imagine 2 bowls v. g. moving in vacuo, 'tis only con-
ceiving a person affected with these sensations.

Extension to exist in a thoughtless thing [or rather in a thing
void of perception — thought seeming to imply action], is a con-
tradiction.

Qu. if visible motion be proportional to tangible motion ?

In some dreams succession of ideas swifter than at other times.

If a piece of matter have extension, that must be determined
to a particular bigness & figure, but &c.

Nothing corresponds to our primary ideas wt^'out ^■'' but powers.
Hence a direct & brief demonstration of an active powcrfull
Being distinct from us, on whom we depend. *

*' Is an extended thing, then, a mode in ^ Does 'without' mean here independent

which a person exists? of our will, or distinct from our perception,

** See Locke's Eisay, Bk. II. ch. 9. § 8. or both ?

470 Commonplace Book.

The name of colours actually given to tangible qualities by
the relation of ye story of the German Count.

Qu. How came visible & tangible qualities by the same name
in all languages ?

Qu. Whether Being might not be the substance of the soul, or
(otherwise thus) whether Being, added to ye faculties, compleat the
real essence and adequate definition of the soul ?

N. Qu. Whether, on the supposition of external bodies, it be pos-
sible for us to know that any body is absolutely at rest, since
that supposing ideas much slower than at present, bodies now
apparently moving w<i then be apparently at rest ?

M. Qu. What can be like a sensation but a sensation ?

Qu. Did ever any man see any other things besides his own
ideas, that he should compare them to these, and make these like
unto them ?

T. The age of a fly, for ought that we know, may be as long as
yt of a man.

Visible distance heterogeneous from tangible distance demon-
strated 3 several ways : —

jst. If a tangible inch be equal or in any other reason to a
visible inch, thence it will follow yt unequals are equals, w^l^ is
absurd : for at what distance would the visible inch be placed to
make it equal to the tangible inch ?

3'^. One made to see that had not yet seen his own limbs, or
any thing he touched, upon sight of a foot length would know
it to be a foot length, if tangible foot &: visible foot were the
same idea — sed falsum id, ergo et hoc.

3'"y. From Molyneux's problem, wc^ otherwise is falsely solv'd
by Locke and him.

M. Nothing but ideas perceivable ^^.

A man cannot compare 2 things together without perceiving
them each. Ergo, he cannot say anything wc^ is not an idea ^^ is
like or unlike an idea.

■'•^ To perceive what is not an idea (as " i. e. a something perceived. He refers

Berkeley uses idea) is to perceive what is here to the sceptical objection.
not perceived, which is a contradiction.

Commonplace Book. 471

Bodies &c. do exist even w" not perceived — they being powers
in the active being ^*^.

Succession a simple idea, [succession is an abstract, i. e. an
inconceivable idea,] Locke says ^'K

Visible extension is [proportional to tangible extension, also is]
encreated ^ diminish'd by parts. Hence taken for the same.

If extension be without the mind in bodies, Qu. whether tangible
or visible, or both ?

Mathematical propositions about extension & motion true in
a double sense.

Extension thought peculiarly inert because not accompany'd wth
pleasure & pain; hence thought to exist in matter, as also for
that it was conceiv'd common to 2 senses, [as also the constant
perception of 'em].

Blind at i^t sight could not tell how near what he saw was to
him, nor even whether it be w^^out him or in his eye ^'". Qu. Would
he not think the later ?

Blind at 1 ^^ sight could not know y* w* he saw was extended ^i
until he had seen and touched some one selfsame thing — not
knowing how minimum tangibile would look.

Mem. That homogeneous particles be brought in to answer the
objection of God's creating sun, plants, &c. before animals.

In every bodie two infinite series of extension — the one of
tangible, the other of visible.

All things to a blind [man] at first seen in a point.

Ignorance of glasses made men think extension to be in bodies.

Homogeneous portions of matter — useful to contemplate them.

Extension if in matter changes its relation w^h minimum visibile^
wch seems to be fixt.

Qu. whether m. v. be fix'd ?

Each particle of matter if extended must be infinitely extended,
or have an infinite series of extension.

'* i. e. sensible things would have a po- ^^ ' In his eye,' — rather, independent of

tential existence in the Divine Will and all that is sensible, organic or extra-organic.

Thought, even if there were a cessation of How could he know, in seeing, properly so

all finite sense-consciousness— in the intel- called, which is a purely conscious state,

lectual and supersensible activity of God. that visual consciousness was connected with

■'' With Berkeley, time or succession is an organism ?
change, and (so-called) time, abstracted from ^^ i. e. tangibly or really extended,

concrete changes, is absurd.

472 Commonplace Book.

M. If the world be granted to consist of Matter, 'tis the mind gives
it beauty and proportion.

Wt I have said onely proves there is no proportion at all times
and in all men between a visible & tangible inch.

Tangible and visible extension heterogeneous, because they have
no common measure j also because their simplest constituent parts
or elements are specifically different, viz. punctum vhiblle & tan-
gtb'tle. N.B. The former seems to be no good reason.

By immateriality is solv'd the cohesion of bodies, or rather the
dispute ceases.

Our idea we call extension neither way capable of infinity, i. e.
neither infinitely small or great.

Greatest possible extension seen under an angle w^h will be less
than 180 degrees, the legs of wch angle proceed from the ends of
the extension.
N. Allowing there be extended, solid &c. substances without the
mind, 'tis impossible the mind should know or perceive them ; the
mind, even according to the materialists, perceiving onely the
impressions made upon its brain, or rather the ideas attending
these impressions.

Unity in abstracto not at all divisible, it being as it were a
point, or with Barrow nothing at all ; in concreto not divisible ad
tnfinitumj there being no one idea demonstrable ad infinitum.
M. Any subject can have of each sort of primary qualities but one
particular at once. Locke, b. 4. c. 3. s. 15.

Qu. whether we have clear ideas of large numbers themselves,
or onely of their relations?

Of solidity see L. b. 2. c. 4. s. i, 5, 6. If any one ask wt
solidity is, let him put a flint between his hands and he will
know 62. Extension of body is continuity of solid, &c. ; extension
of space is continuity of unsolid, &c.

Why may not I say visible extension is a continuity of visible
points, tangible extension is a continuity of tangible points?

jyj^ Mem. That I take notice that I do not fall in w* sceptics,
Fardella ^\ &c., in that I make bodies to exist certainly, wch they
doubt of.

"2 Berkeley uses Solidity in more than one philosopher Fardella (1650— 1718) main-

"^ m"t^^' tained, by reasonings akin to those of Male-

The Italian physical and metaphysical branche, that the existence of the material

Commonplace Book. 473

I am more certain of ye existence 6c reality of bodies than
Mr. Locke, since he pretends onely to w* he calls sensitive know-
ledge, whereas I think I have demonstrative knowledge of their
existence — by them meaning combinations of powers in an un-
known substratum.

Our ideas we call figure ^ extension, not images of the figure
and extension of matter ; these (if such there be) being infinitely
divisible, those not so.

'Tis impossible a material cube should exist, because the edges
of a cube will appear broad to an acute sense.

Men die or are in [a] state of annihilation oft in a day.

Powers. Qu. whether more or one onely ?

Lengths abstract from breadths are the work of the mmd. Such
do intersect in a point at all angles. After the same way colour
is abstract from extension.

Every position alters the line.

Qu. whether ideas of extension are made up of other ideas,
v.g. idea of a foot made up of general ideas of an inch ?

The idea of an inch length not one determin'd idea. Hence
enquire the reason why we are out in judging of extension by
the sight, for which purpose 'tis meet also to consider the frequent
& sudden changes of extension by position.

No stated ideas of length without a minimum.

Material substance banter'd by Locke, b. 2. c. 13. s. 19.

In my doctrine all absurdities from infinite space (Sec. cease ^^.

Qu. whether if (speaking grossly) the things we see were all of
them at all times too small to be felt, we should have confounded
tangible & visible extension and figure ?

Qu. whether if succession of ideas in the Eternal Mind, a day

world could not be proved by reason, and For, when a phenomenon given in sense

could only be maintained by faith in reve- reaches the minimum sensihile, it reaches

lation. See his UniverscB Philosophic Sys- the margin of its possible existence : it

tema (1690), and especially his Logica cannot be infinitely little : insensible sensa-

(1696). tions cannot exist. And so too of the in-

" He eliminates the quantitatus infinite. finitely great.

474 Commonplace Book.

docs not seem to God a looo years, rather than a looo years
a day?

But one only colour & its degrees.

Enquiry about a grand mistake in writers of diopti-icks in
assigning the cause of microscopes magnifying objects.

Qu. whether a blind [man] made to see would at i^* give the
name of distance to any idea intromitted by sight, since he would
take distance yt that he had perceived by touch to be something
existing without his mind, but he would certainly think that
nothing seen was without his mind ?
S. Space without any bodies being In rerum natura would not be

extended, as not having parts, in that parts are assigned to it w^h
respect to body; from whence also the notion of distance is taken.
Now without either parts or distance or mind, how can there be
space, or anything beside one uniform Nothing?

Two demonstrations that blind made to see would not take all
things he saw to be without his mind, or not in a point — the one
from microscopic eyes, the other from not perceiving distance, i.e.
radius of the visual sphere.

y[^ The trees are in the park, i.e. whether I will or no, whether I
imagine anything about them or no. Let me but go thither and
open my eyes by day, & I shall not avoid seeing them.

By extension blind [man] would mean either the perception
caused in his touch by something he calls extended, or else the
power of raising that perception, wch power is without, in the
thing termed extended. Now he could not know either of these
to be in things visible till he had try'd.

Geometry seems to have for its object tangible extension,
figures, & motion — and not visible f'^.

A man will say a body will seem as big as before, tho' the
visible idea it yields be less than w* it was ; therefore the bigness
or tangible extension of the body is different from the visible
extension.

''•' Cf. Essay oti Vision, sect. 149 — 59, nor visible extension makes the object of
where he concludes that ' neither abstract geometry.'

Commonplace Book. 475

Extension or space no simple idea — length, breadth, & solidity
being three several ideas.

Depth or solidity now perceived by sight.

Strange impotence of men. Man without God wretcheder than
a stone or tree ; he having onely the power to be miserable by his
unperformed wills, these having no power at all.

Length perceivable by hearing — length & breadth by sight —
length, breadth, & depth by touch.

Wt affects us must be a thinking thing, for w* thinks not cannot
subsist.

Number not in bodies, it being the creature of the mind,
depending entirely on its consideration, & being more or less
as the mind pleases.

Mem. Qusere whether extension be .equally a sensation with
colour ? The mob use not the word extension. 'Tis an abstract
term of the Schools.

Round figure a perception or sensation in the mind, but in the
body is a power. L[ocke], b. 2. c. 8. s. 8.

Mem. Mark well the later part of the last cited section.

Solids, or any other tangible things, are no otherwise seen than
colours felt by the German Count.

' OP and ' thing' causes of mistake.

The visible point of he who has microscopical eyes will not be
greater or less than mine.

Qu. whether the propositions & even axioms of geometry do
not divers of them suppose the existence of lines &c. without the
mind ?

Whether motion be the measure of duration ? Locke, b. 2. c. 14.
s. 19.

Lines & points conceivM as terminations different ideas from
those conceiv'd absolutely.

Every position alters a line.

Blind man at i^t would not take colours to be without his mind ;
but colours would seem to be in the same place with the coloured
extension : therefore extension w^ not seem to be without the
mind.

476 Commojiplace Book.

All visible concentric circles whereof the eye is the^centre are
absolutely equal.

Infinite number — why absurd — not rightly solv'd by Locke.
Qu. how 'tis possible we should see flats or right lines ?
Qu. why the moon appears greatest in the horizon ?
Qu. why we see things erect when painted inverted ?

T. Question put by Mr. Deering touching the thief and paradise.

M. Matter tho' allowed to exist may be no greater than a pin's head.

Motion is proportionable to space described in given time.

Velocity not proportionable to space describ'd in given time.
M. No active power but the Will : therefore Matter, if it exists,
affects us not.

Magnitude when barely taken for the ratio partium extra parteSy
or rather for co-existence & succession, without considering the
parts co-existing & succeeding, is infinitely, or rather indefinitely,
or not at all perhaps, divisible, because it is itself infinite or
indefinite. But definite, determined magnitudes, i.e. lines or
surfaces consisting of points whereby (together w^h distance &
position) they are determin'd, are resoluble into those points.

Again. Magnitude taken for co-existence and succession is not
all divisible, but is one simple idea.

Simple ideas include no parts nor relations — hardly separated
and considered in themselves — nor yet rightly singled by any
author. Instance in power, red, extension, iScc.
M. Space not imaginable by any idea received from sight — not
imaginable without body moving — not even then necessarily
existing (I speak of infinite space), for wt the body has past may be
conceiv'd annihilated.
M. Qu. What can we see beside colours ? what can we feel beside
hard, soft, cold, warm, pleasure, pain ?

Qu. Why not taste & smell extension ?

Qu. Why not tangible & visible extensions thought hetero-
geneous extensions, so well as gustable & olefactible perceptions
thought heterogeneous perceptions ? or at least why not as hetero-
geneous as blue & red ?

Moon wn horizontal does not appear bigger as to visible exten-

Commonplace Book. 477

sion than at other times; hence difficulties and disputes about
things seen under equal angles &c. cease.

All potentia alike indifferent.

A. B. W* does he mean by his potentia ? Is it the will, desire,
person, or all or neither, or sometimes one, sometimes t'other ?

No agent can be conceiv'd indifferent as to pain or pleasure.

We do not properly speaking, in a strict philosophical sense,
make objects more or less pleasant, but the laws of nature do that.

A finite intelligence might have foreseen 4 thousand years agoe
0. the place and circumstances, even the most minute & trivial, of
my present existence. This true on supposition that uneasiness
determines the will.

Doctrines of liberty, prescience, &c. explained by billiard balls.

Wt judgement would he make of uppermost and lowermost who
had always se^n through an inverting glass ?

All lines subtending the same optic angle congruent (as is evi-
dent by an easy experiment) — therefore they are equal.

We have not pure simple ideas of blue, red, or any other colour
(except perhaps black) because all bodies reflect heterogeneal light.

Qu. whether this be true as to sounds (& other sensations),
there being, perhaps, rays of air w^h will onely exhibit one par-
ticular sound, as rays of light one particular colour.

Colours not definable, not because they are pure unmixt thoughts,
but because we cannot easily distinguish & separate the thoughts
they include, or because we want names for their component ideas.

By Soul is meant onely a complex idea, made up of existence,
willing, & perception in a large sense. Therefore it is known
and it may be defined.

We cannot possibly conceive any active power but the Will.

In moral matters men think ('tis true) that they are free, but
this freedom is only the freedom of doing as they please, w^h
freedom is consecutive to the Will, respecting only the operative
faculties ^^.

Men impute their actions to themselves because they will'd

*^ Berkeley gives an obscure, vacillating, account of moral activity or volition.

478 Commonplace Book.

them, and that not out of ignorance, but whereas they have the
consequences of them, whether good or bad.

This does not prove men to be indifferent in respect of desiring,

If anything is meant by the potentia of A. B. it must be desire ;
but I appeal to any man if his desire be indifferent, or (to speak
more to the purpose) whether he himself be indifferent in respect
of wt he desires till after he has desired it — for as for desire itself,
or the faculty of desiring, that is indifferent, as all other faculties
are.

Actions leading to heaven are in my power if I will them :
therefore I will will them.

Qu. concerning the procession of Wills in infinitum.

Herein mathematiques have the advantage over metaphysiques
and morality. Their definitions being of words not yet known
to ye learner, are not disputes j but words in metaphysiques &
morality being mostly known to all, the definitions of them may
chance to be contraverted.
M. The short jejune way in mathematiques will not do in meta-
physiques & ethiques, for y^ about mathematical propositions men
have no prejudices, no anticipated opinions to be encounter'd,
they not having yet thought on such matters. 'Tis not so in
the other 2 mentioned sciences. A man must [there] not onely
demonstrate the truth, he must also vindicate it against scruples
and established opinions which contradict it. In short, the dry,
strigose, rigid way will not suffice. He must be more ample &
copious, else his demonstration, tho' never so exact, will not go
down with most.

Extension seems to consist in variety of homogeneal thoughts
co-existing without mixture.

Or rather visible extension seems to be the co-existence of colour
in the mind.

S. Enquiring and judging are actions which depend on the operative

Mo. faculties, w^h depend on the Will, wch is determin'd by some un-
easiness; ergo &c. Suppose an agent wch jg finite perfectly in-
different, and as to desiring not determin'd by any prospect or
consideration of good, I say, this agent cannot do an action

Commonplace Book. 479

morally good. Hence 'tis evident the suppositions of A. B. are
insignificant.

Extension, motion, time, number no simple ideas, but include
succession in them, which seems to be a simple idea.

Mem. To enquire into the angle of contact, & into fluxions, &c.

The sphere of vision is equal whether I look onely in my hand
or on the open firmament, for i^*, in both cases the retina is full;
2**, the radius's of both spheres are equall or rather nothing at
all to the sight; 3"^'^, equal numbers of points in one & t'other.

In the Barrovian case purblind would judge aright.

Why the horizontal moon greater ?

Why objects seen erect ?

To what purpose certain figure and texture connected w^h other
perceptions ?

Men estimate magnitudes both by angles and distance. Blind
at I'* could not know distance, or by pure sight abstracting from
experience of connexion of sight and tangible ideas we can't
perceive distance. Therefore by pure sight we cannot perceive
or judge of extension.

Qu. whether it be possible to enlarge our sight or make us see
at once more, or more points, than we do, by diminishing the
punctum visihile below 30"?

Speech metaphorical more than we imagine, insensible things,
& their modes, circumstances, &c. being exprest for the most
part by words borrow'd from things sensible. Hence manyfold
mistakes.

The grand mistake is that we think we have ideas of the opera-
tions of our minds. Certainly this metaphorical dress is an argu-
ment we have not.

Qu. How can our idea of God be complex & uncompounded,
when his essence is simple & uncompounded ? V. Locke, b. 2.

The impossibility of defining or discoursing clearly of such
things proceeds from the fault & scantiness of language, as much

*' [' Omnes reales rerum proprietates continentur in Deo.' What means Le Clerc &c. by
this? Log. I. ch. 8.] — Author.

480 Commonplace Book.

perhaps as from obscurity & confusion of thought. Hence I may
clearly and fully understand my own soul, extension, &:c., and not
be able to define them.
M. The substance 'wood a collection of simple ideas. See Locke,
b. 2. c. 26. s. J .

Mem. concerning strait lines seen to look at them through an
orbicular lattice.

Qu. whether possible that those visible ideas w^h are now con-
nected with greater extensions could have been connected with
lesser extensions, — there seeming to be no necessary connexion
between those thoughts ?

Speculums seem to diminish or enlarge objects not by altering
the optique angle, but by altering the apparent distance.

Hence Qu. if blind would think things diminish^ by convexes,
or enlarg'd by concaves ?
P. N. Motion not one idea. It cannot be perceived at once.
M. Mem. To allow existence to colours in the dark, persons not
P. thinking,&c. — but not an absolute, actual existence. 'Tis prudent
to correct men's mistakes without altering their language. This
makes truth glide into their souls insensibly.
M. Colours in ye dark do exist really, i. e. were there light, or as
P. soon as light comes, we shall see them, provided we open our
eyes, and that whether we will or no.

How the retina is fill'd by a looking-glass ?

Convex speculums have the same effect w^h concave glasses.

Qu. whether concave speculums have the same effect w^h con-
vex glasses ?

The reason why convex speculums diminish & concave magnify
not yet fully assign'd by any writer I know.

Qu. why not objects seen confus'd when that they seem
inverted through a convex lens ?

Qu. how to make a glass or speculum which shall magnify or
diminish by altering the distance without altering the angle ?

No identity (other than perfect likeness) in any individuals
besides persons.
N. As well make tastes, smells, fear, shame, wit, virtue, vice, &
all thoughts move wth local motion as immaterial spirit.

Commonplace Book. 481

On account of my doctrine, the identity of finite substances
must consist in something else than continued existence, or
relation to determined time & place of beginning to exist — the
existence of our thoughts (which being combined make all sub-
stances) being frequently interrupted, & they having divers
beginnings & endings.

Qu. whether identity of person consists not in the Will ?

No necessary connexion between great or little optique angles
and great or little extension.

Distance is not perceived : optique angles are not perceived.
How then is extension perceiv'd by sight ?

Apparent magnitude of a line is not simply as the optique angle,
but directly as the optique angle, & reciprocally as the confusion,
&c. (i. e. the other sensations or want of sensation that attend
near vision). Hence great mistakes in assigning the magnifying
power of glasses. Vid. Moly[neux], p. 182.

Glasses or speculums may perhaps magnify or lessen without
altering the optique angle, but to no purpose.

Qu. whether purblind would think objects so much diminished
by a convex speculum as another ?

Qu. wherein consists identity of person ? Not in actual con-
sciousness, for then I'm not the same person I was this day twelve-
month, but while I think of w* I then did. Not in potential, for
then all persons may be the same, for ought we know.

Mem. Story of Mr. Deering's aunt.

Two sorts of potential consciousnesses — natural & praeter-
natural. In the last § but one I mean the latter.

If by magnitude be meant the proportion anything bears to a
determined tangible extension, as inch, foot, Sec, this, 'tis plain,
cannot be properly & per se perceived by sight; & as for
determin'd visible inches, feet, &c., there can be no such thing
obtain'd by the meer act of seeing — abstracted from expe-
rience, &c.

The greatness per se perceivable of the sight is onely the pro-
portion any visible appearance bears to the others seen at the same
time; or (which is the same thing) the proportion of any particular

VOL. IV. I i

482 Commonplace Book.

part of the visual orb to the whole. But mark that we perceive
not it is an orb, any more than a plain, but by reasoning.

This is all the greatness the pictures have per se.

Hereby meere men cannot at all judge of the extension of
any object, it not availing to know the object makes such a part
of a spherical surface except we also know the greatness of the
sphserical surface, for a point may subtend the same angle w^h a
mile, & so create as great an image in the retina, i. e. take up as
much of the orb.

Men judge of magnitude by faintness and vigorousness, by dis-
tinctness and confusion, with some other circumstances, by great
&: little angles.

Hence 'tis plain the ideas of sight which are now connected
with greatness might have been connected w^h smallness, and vice
versa— there being no necessary reason why great angles, faint-
ness, and distinctness without straining, should stand for great
extension, any more than a great angle, vigorousness, and con-
fusion.

My end is not to deliver metaphysiques altogether in a general
scholastic way, but in some measure to accommodate them to
the sciences, and shew how they may be useful in optiques,
geometry, &c.

Qu. whether per se proportion of visible magnitudes be per-
ceivable by sight ? This is put on account of distinctness and con-
fusedness, the act of perception seeming to be as great in viewing
any point of the visual orb distinctly, as in viewing the whole
confusedly.

Mem. To correct my language & make it as philosophically nice
as possible — to avoid giving handle.

If men could without straining alter the convexity of their
crystallines, they might magnify or diminish the apparent
diameters of objects, the same optic angle remaining.

The bigness in one sense of the pictures in the fund is not
determin'd, for the nearer a man views them, the images of them
(as well as other objects) will take up the greater room in the fund
of his eye.

Mem. Introduction to contain the design of the whole — the
nature and manner of demonstrating, &c.

Two sorts of bigness accurately to be distinguished, they being

Commonplace Book, 483

perfectly and toto ccelo different — the one the proportion that any
one appearance has to the sum of appearances perceived at the
same time w^h it, w^h is proportional to angles, or if a surface to
segments of sphaerical surfaces, — the other is tangible bigness.

Qu. w* would happen if the sphserae of the retina were enlarged
or diminish'd ?

We think by the meer act of vision we perceive distance from
us, yet we do not j also that we perceive solids, yet we do not ;
also the inequality of things seen under the same angle, yet we
do not.

Why may I not add, we think we see extension by meer vision ?
yet we do not.

Extension seems to be perceived by the eye, as thought by the
ear.

As long as the same angle determines the minimum vis'thile to
two persons, no different conformation of the eye can make a
different appearance of magnitude in the same thing. But it
being possible to try the angle, we may certainly know whether
the same thing appears differently big to two persons on account
of their eyes.

If a man could see " objects would appear larger to him than to
another ; hence there is another sort of purely visible magnitude
beside the proportion any appearance bears to the visual sphere,
viz. its proportion to the M. V,

Were there but one and the same language in the world, and
did children speak it naturally as soon as born, and were it not in
the power of men to conceal their thoughts or deceive others, but
that there were an inseparable connexion between words &
thoughts, so yt posito uno ponttur alterum by the laws of nature ; Qu.
would not men think they heard thoughts as much as that they see
[extension ^^] ?

All our ideas are adaequate, our knowledge of the laws of nature
is not perfect & adaequate ^^.

Men are in the right in judging their simple ideas to be in the

*^ ' distance' — on opposite page. phenomena, is adequate ; indirect or ac-

'^ Direct perception, or consciousness of quired perception is inadequate.

I i 2

484 Commonplace Book.

things themselves. Certainly heat & colour is as much without
the mind as figure, motion, time, &c.

We know many things v/ch we want words to express. Great
things discoverable upon this principle — for want of considering
wch divers men have run into sundry mistakes, endeavouring to
set forth their knowledge by sounds, wch foundering them, they
thought the defect was in their knowledge, while in truth it was
in their language.

Query whether the sensations of sight arising from a man's
head be liker the sensations of touch proceeding from thence or
from his legs ?

Or, Is it onely the constant & long association of ideas entirely
different that makes me judge them the same ?

Wt I see is onely variety of colours & light. Wt I feel is
hard or soft, hot or cold, rough or smooth, &:c. W* resemblance
have these thoughts with those ?

A picture painted w* great variety of colours affects the touch
in one uniform manner. I cannot therefore conclude that because
I see 2, I shall feel 2 ; because I see angles or inequalities, I shall
feel angles or inequalities. How therefore can 1 — before experience
teaches me — know that the visible leggs are (because 2) connected
wth the tangible ones, or the visible head (because one) connected
wth the tangible head?

M. All things by us conceivable are —
1st, thoughts-

2ndly, powers to receive thoughts j
3rdly, powers to cause thoughts;
neither of all wch can possibly exist in an inert, senseless thing.

An object wthout a glass may be seen under as great an angle as
wth a glass, A glass therefore does not magnify the appearance
by the angle.
S. Absurd that men should know the soul by idea— ideas being

inert, thoughtless. Hence Malbranch confuted ^o.

/r ^,"^, the Divine ideas of Malebranche and the real ideas, sensations, or phenomena
ot Berkeley differ. ^

Commonplace Book. 485

1 saw gladness in his looks. 1 saw shame in his face. So I see
figure or distance.

Qu. why things seen confusedly thro' a convex glass arc not
magnify'd ?

Tho' we should judge the horizontal moon to be more distant,
why should we therefore judge her to be greater ? What connexion
betwixt the same angle^ further distant, and greaterness ?

My doctrine affects the essences of the Corpuscularians.

Perfect circles, &c. exist not without (for none can so exist,
whether perfect or no), but in the mind.

Lines thought divisible ad infinitum because they are suppos'd to
exist without 71. Also because they are thought the same when
view'd by the naked eye, & w" view'd thro' magnifying glasses.

They who knew not glasses had not so fair a pretence for the
divisibility ad infinitum.

No idea "- of circle, &c. in abstract.

Metaphysiques as capable of certainty as ethiques, but not so
capable to be demonstrated in a geometrical way, because men see
clearer & have not so many prejudices in ethiques.

Visible ideas come into the mind very distinct. So do tangible
ideas. Hence extension seen & felt. Sounds, tastes, &c. are
more blended.

Qu. Why not extension intromitted by the taste in conjunction
with the smell — seeing tastes & smells are very distinct ideas ?

Blew and yellow particles mixt, while they exhibit an uniform
green, their extension is not perceiv'd ; but as soon as they exhibit
distinct sensations of blew and yellow, then their extension is
perceiv'd.

Distinct perception of visible ideas not so perfect as of tangible
— tangible ideas being many at once equally vivid. Hence
heterogeneous extension.

Object. Why a mist increases not the apparent magnitude of
an object, in proportion to the faintness T-i ?

Mem. To enquire touching the squaring of the circle, &c.

That w* seems smooth & round to the touch may to sight

" ' without,' i. e. independent of all con- ''^ i. e. in Berkeley's meaning of ' idea,'

sciousness or perception of them. When which gives intuitive as distinct from sym-

they get too small for that they cease to bolical knowledge,

exist at all, according to Berkeley. " Cf. Essay on Vision, sect. 71.

486 Commonplace Book.

seem quite otherwise. Hence no necessary connexion betwixt
visible ideas and tangible ones.

In o-eometry it is not prov'd that an inch is divisible ad infinitum.

Geometry not conversant about our compleat, determined ideas
of figures, for these are not divisible ad infinitum.

Particular circles may be squar'd, for the circumference being
given a diameter may be found betwixt w^h & the true there is
not any perceivable difference. Therefore there is no difference
— extension being a perception, & a perception not perceivM is
contradiction, nonsense, nothing. In vain to alledge the difference
may be seen by magnify ing-glasses, for in yt case there is ('tis true)
a difference perceiv'd, but not between the same ideas, but others
much greater, entirely different therefrom '^■*.

Any visible circle possibly perceivable of any man may be
squar'd, by the common way, most accurately ; or even perceivable
by any other being, see he never so acute, i.e. never so small an
arch of a circle ; this being w* makes the distinction between
acute & dull sight, and not the m. v., as men are perhaps apt
to think.

The same is true of any tangible circle. Therefore further
enquiry of accuracy in squaring or other curves is perfectly
needless, & time thrown away.

Mem. To press wt last precedes more homely, & so think on't
again.

A meer line or distance is not made up of points, does not
exist, cannot be imagin'd, or have an idea framed thereof, — no
more than meer colour without extension '^^.

Mem. A great difference between considering length w*out
breadth, & having an idea of or imagining length without
breadth '^^.

Malbranch out touching the crystallines diminishing, L. i.e. 6.

'Tis possible (& perhaps not very improbable, that is, is some-
times so) we may have the greatest pictures from the least objects.

^* This is the Principle directed against many of these sentences,
infinite divisibility, and quantitative infinity. ''^ He here assumes that extension (visible)

Cf. Malebranche, Recherche, lib. I. c. 6. is implied in the perception of colour.
That and the following chapters seem to ''^' This strikingly illustrates Berkeley's

have been in Berkeley's mind in writing use of ' idea.'

Commonplace Book. 487

Therefore no necessary connexion betwixt visible & tangible
ideas. These ideas, viz. great relation to sphara 'vhua/h or to the
m. V. (wch is all that I would have meant by having a greater
picture) & faintness, might possibly have stood for or signify'd
small tangible extensions. Certainly the greater relation to s. v.
and m. v. does frequently, in that men view little objects near
the eye.

Malbranch out in asserting we cannot possibly know whether
there are 2 men in the world that see a thing of the same bigness.
V. L. I. c. 6.

Diagonal of particular square commensurable wth its side, they
both containing a certain number of m. v.

I do not think that surfaces consist of lines, i.e. meer distances.
Hence perhaps may be solid that sophism w^h would prove the
oblique line equal to the perpendicular between 2 parallels.

Suppose an inch represent a mile. y^Vrr o^ ^^ ^'^ch is nothing,
but Yiroo ^^ y^ "^^'^ represented is something : therefore y^nnr ^^
an inch, tho' nothing, is not to be neglected, because it represents
something, i.e ywott o^ ^ mile.

Particular determinM lines are not divisible ad infinitum^ but
lines as us'd by geometers are so, they not being determin'd to
any particular finite number of points. Yet a geometer (he knows
not why) will very readily say he can demonstrate an inch line is
divisible ad Infinitum.

A body moving in the optique axis not perceived to move by
sight merely, and without experience. There is ('tis true) a
successive change of ideas, — it seems less and less. But, besides
this, there is no visible change of place.

Mem. To enquire most diligently concerning the incommensu-
rability of diagonale & side — whether it does not go on the suppo-
sition of units being divisible ad infinitum^ i. e. of the extended
thing spoken of being divisible ad Infinitum (unit being nothing ;
also V. Barrow, Lect. Geom.), &: so the infinite indivisibility
deduced therefrom is a fetitio principii ?

The diagonal is commensurable with the side.

From Malbranch, Locke, & my first arguings it can^t be prov'd
that extension is not in matter. From Locke's arguings it can't
be proved that colours are not in bodies.

488 Commonplace Book.

Mem. That I was distrustful at 8 years old, and consequently
by nature disposed for these new doctrines.

Qu. How can a line consisting of an unequal number of points
be divisible \ad infinitum] in two equals ?

Mem. To discuss copiously how & why we do not see the
pictures.
JVI. Allowing extensions to exist in matter, we cannot know even
P. their proportions — contrary to Malbranch.

M. I wonder how men cannot see a truth so obvious, as that
extension cannot exist without a thinking substance".

M. Species of all sensible things made by the mind. This prov'd
either by turning men^s eyes into magnifyers or diminishers.

Y"^ m. V. is, suppose, less than mine. Let a 3^^ person have
perfect ideas of both our m. v^ His idea of my m. v. contains
his idea of yours, & somewhat more. Therefore 'tis made up of
parts — therefore his idea of my m. v. is not perfect or just, which
diverts the hypothesis.

Qu. whether a m. v. or t. be extended ?

Mem. The strange errours men run into about the pictures.
We think them small because should a man be suppos'd to see
them their pictures would take up but little room in the fund of
his eye.

It seems all lines can't be bisected in 2 equall parts. Mem. To
examine how the geometers prove the contrary.

'Tis impossible there should* be a m. v. less than mine. If
there be, mine may become equal to it (because they are homo-
geneous) by detraction of some part or parts. But it consists not
of parts, ergo Sec.

" The dependence of extension and space perties of being immediately and ineradically

ujjon a conscious mind does not necessarily certain, of being universally present in all

imply that space is contingent or created. It phenomena, of being knowable in their first

may be the uncreated condition of the per- intention and defined as what they are, and

ceived or actual existence of the sensible sort of being in nature the same, in all objects

of phenomena. Berkeley's early notions however diff"erent. They thus become the

about space and time distinguish his point common basis or bond of union between all

of view from that of Kantian and later philo- other cognitions, and as such the starting-

sophy, with its necessary and universal ele- point and corner-stone of philosophy.' (See

ment. ' Time and space alone,' says an emi- Time and Space (p. I 2 2), by Shadworth H.

nent living metaphysician, ' unite the pro- Hodgson.)

Commonplace Book. 489

Suppose inverting perspectives bound to y^ eyes of a child, &
continued to the years of manhood — when he looks up, or turns up
his head, he shall behold wt we call under. Qu. What would he
think of up and down 7^ ?

I wonder not at my sagacity in discovering the obvious tho'
amazing truth- I rather wonder at my stupid inadvertency in
not finding it out before — 'tis no witchcraft to see.

Our simple ideas are so many simple thoughts or perceptions,
and that a perception cannot exist without a thing to perceive it,
or any longer than it is perceiv'd ; that a thought cannot be in an
unthinking thing j that one uniform simple thought can be like
to nothing but another uniform simple thought. Complex thoughts
or ideas are onely an assemblage of simple ideas, and can be
the image of nothing, or like unto nothing but another assemblage
of simple ideas, &c.

The Cartesian opinion of light & colours &c. is orthodox enough
even in their eyes who think the Scripture expression may favour
the common opinion. Why may not mine also ? But there is
nothing in Scripture that can possibly be wrested to make against
me, but, perhaps, many things for me.

Bodies &c. do exist whether we think of 'em or no, they being
taken in a twofold sense — •

1. Collections of thoughts 7'^.

2. Collections of powers to cause those thoughts '^'\

These later exist, tho' perhaps a parte ret it may be one simple
perfect power ^^.

Qu. whether the extension of a plain, look'd at straight and
slantingly, survey'd minutely & distinctly, or in the bulk and con-
fusedly at once, be the same ? N.B. The plain is suppos'd to keep
the same distance.

The ideas we have by a successive, curious inspection of ye

''' This to illustrate the necessary relative- See below, where perceptions = passive

ness of those terms, and elsewhere applied thoughts.

to the inverted images on the retina. Cf. '" i. e. the Supreme or Divine power, into

Essay on Virion, sect. 88 -119. which Berkeley in the end resolves all so-

^'■' He here uses thoughts = perceptions. called physical forces and their correlations.

490 Commonplace Book.

minute parts of a plain do not seem to make up the extension
of that plain view'd & considcr'd all together.

Ignorance in some sort requisite in ye person that should disown
the Principle.

Thoughts do most properly signify, or arc mostly taken for the
interior operations of the mind, wherein the mind is active.
Those yt obey not the acts of volition, and in w^h the mind is
passive, are more properly call'd sensations or perceptions. But
yt is all a case.

Extension being the collection or distinct co-existence of mini-
mums, i.e. of perceptions intromitted by sight or touch, it cannot
be conceiv'd without a perceiving substance.

P. Malbranch does not prove that the figures 8c extensions exist
not when they are not perceiv'd. Consequently he does not prove,
nor can it be prov'd on his principles, that the sorts are the work
of the mind, and oncly in the mind.

M. The great argument to prove that extension cannot be in an

P* unthinking substance, is that it cannot be conceiv'd distinct from
or without all tangible or visible quality.

M. Tho' matter be extended wth an indefinite extension, yet the
mind makes the sorts. They were not before the mind perceiving
them, & even now they are not without the mind. Houses, trees,
&c., tho' indefinitely extended matter do exist, are not without
the mind ^^

M. The great danger of making extension exist without the mind,
is that if it does it must be acknowledg'd infinite, immutable,
eternal, &c., wch will be to make either God extended (w^ii I think
dangerous), or an eternal, immutable, infinite, increatc being
beside God **2.

I. Finiteness of our minds no excuse for the geometers ^3.

M. The Principle easily proved by plenty of arguments ad absurdum.
The twofold signification of Bodies, viz.

"' Because they involve sensation, and of mechanical science and theology in the
law or uinversality. Newtonian age.

«'^ This is written at the point of view ^' Cf. Principles, [nlroduction, sect. 2.

Commonplace Book. 491

1. Combinations of thoughts ;

2. Combinations of powers to raise thoughts.

These, I say, in conjunction with homogeneous particles, may
solve much better the objections from the creation than the sup-
position that Matter does exist, — upon w^h supposition I think
they cannot be solv'd.

Bodies taken for powers do exist w" not perceiv'd- but this
existence is not actual^*. W" I say a power exists, no more is
meant than that if in the light I open my eyes, and look that
way, I shall see it, i.e. the body, &c.

Qu. whether blind before sight may not have an idea of light
and colours & visible extension, after the same manner as we
perceive them wt^i eyes shut or in the dark — not imagining but
seeing after a sort ?

Visible extension cannot be conceiv'd added to tangible ex-
tension. Visible and tangible points can't make one sum. There-
fore these extensions are heterogeneous.

A probable method propos'd whereby one may judge whether in
near vision there is a greater distance between the crystalline &
fund than usual, or whether the crystalline be onely render'd more
convex. If the former, then the v. s. is enlarg'd, & the m. v.
corresponds to less than 30", or w^ever it us'd to correspond to.

Stated measures, inches, feet, &c., are tangible not visible
extensions ^^.

Locke, More, Raphson, &:c. seem to make God extended.
'Tis nevertheless of great use to religion to take extension out
of our idea of God, & put a power in its place ^^. It seems dan-
gerous to suppose extension, w^h is manifestly inert, in God.

But, say you, The thought or perception I call extension is not
itself in an unthinking thing or Matter — but it is like something

*' i. e. This is, in a way, the distinction ^* This is the ground of Berkeley's moral

of hwayiis and fvfpjda. It helps too to interest in the common philosophical account

explain Berkeley's real meaning when he of Matter, and of his objection to it. His

sometimes speaks of the ideas or phenomena, own belief in what is now caWed ohjecttvity

given in the sense experience of difterent is founded on causality (in bis meaning

persons, almost as if they were independent of efficient cause), after a previous analysis

entities, which circulate among minds, while of space into sensible extension. (For

in fact he credits them only with a de- his own use of ' objective,' cf. Siris, sect,

pendent S2ii generis existence. 2Q2.)

*^ Yet tangible extensions too are relative.

492 Commonplace Book.

wch is in Matter. Well, say I, Do you apprehend or conceive wt
you say extension is like unto, or do you not ? If the later, how
know you they are alike ? How can you compare any things
besides your own ideas ? If the former, it must be an idea, i. e.
perception, thought, or sensation — w* to be in an unperceiving
thing is a contradiction ^'\

I. I abstain from all flourish & powers of words & figures, using

a great plainness & simplicity of simile, having oft found it
difficult to understand those that use the lofty & Platonic, or
subtil & scholastique strain s^.

M. Whatsoever has any of our ideas in it must perceive ; it being
that very having, that passive recognition of ideas, that de-
nominates the mind perceiving — that being the very essence of
perception, or that wherein perception consists.

The faintness w^h alters the appearance of the horizontal moon,
rather proceeds from the quantity or grossness of the intermediate
atmosphere, than from any change of distance, w^h is perhaps not
considerable enough to be a total cause, but may be a partial
of the phenomenon. N.B. The visual angle is less in cause
the horizon.

We judge of the distance of bodies, as by other things, so also
by the situation of their pictures in the eye, or (w^h is the same
thing) according as they appear higher or lower. Those w^h seem
higher are farther off, Sec.

Qu. why we see objects greater in ye dark ? whether this can be
solv'd by any but my principles ?

M. The reverse of ye Principle introduced scepticism.
M. N.B. On my principles there is a reality : there are things : there
is a rerum natura.

^ ^ Mem. The surds, doubling the cube, &c.

To be ' in an unperceiving thing,' i. e. lively as something unJinown involves con-
to exist unperceived. Now, whatever is per- tradiction.

ceived or known is, as something perceived, «« This as to the ' Platonic strain ' is not

an idea—m Berkeley's language : we know the tone of Siris.
it as a something known : to know it posi-

Commonplace Book. 493

We think that if just made to see we should judge of the dis-
tance & magnitude of things as we do now ; but this is false. So
also wt we think so positively of the situation of objects.

Hays's, Keill's^^, &c. method of proving the infinitesimals of
the 3d order absurd, & perfectly contradictions.

Angles of contact, & verily all angles comprehended by a right
line & a curve, cannot be measur'd, the arches intercepted not
being similar.

The danger of expounding the H. Trinity by extension.

Qu. Why should the magnitude seen at a near distance be
deem'd the true one rather than that seen at a farther distance ?
Why should the sun be thought many 1000 miles rather than one
foot in diameter — both being equally apparent diameters ? Cer-
tainly men judg'd of the sun not in himself, but w^h relation to
themselves.

4 principles whereby to answer objections, viz.

1. Bodies do really exist tho' not perceiv'd by us ^^.

2. There is a law or course of nature.

3. Language & knowledge are all about ideas j words stand

for nothing else.

4. Nothing can be a proof against one side of a contradic-

tion that bears equally hard upon the other ^i.

What shall I say? Dare I pronounce the admired aKpt/^eta
mathematica, that darling of the age, a trifle ?

Most certainly no finite extension divisible ad infinitum.

Difficulties about concentric circles.

Mem. To examine & accurately discuss the scholium of the
8th definition of Mr. Newton's '•'^ Principia.

^^ John Keill (1671 — 1721), the eminent covery of the method of fluxions,

mathematician, educated at the University ^^ Thus stated in various preceding pas-

of Edinburgh ; in 17 10 Savilian Professor of sages.

Astronomy at Oxford, and the first to teach '* So in Kant's antinomies, and Hamilton's

the Newtonian philosophy in that University. law of the conditioned.

In 1708 he was engaged in a controversy "^ Newton became Sir Isaac on April 16,

in support of Newton's claims to the dis- 1 705. Was this written before that date ?

494 Commonplace Book.

Ridiculous in the mathematicians to despise sense.

Qu. Is it not impossible there should be general ideas ?

All ideas come from without. They are all particular. The
mind, 'tis true, can consider one thing w^^out another j but then,
considered asunder, they make not 2 ideas 9"'. Both together can
make but one, as for instance colour & visible extension.

The end of a mathematical line is nothing. Locke's argu-
ment that the end of his pen is black or white concludes nothing
here.

Mem. Take care how you pretend to define extension, for fear
of the geometers.

Qu. why difficult to imagine a minimum? Ans. Because we
are not used to take notice of 'em singly; they not being able
singly to pleasure or hurt us, thereby to deserve our regard.

Mem. To prove against Keill yt the infinite divisibility of
matter makes the half have an equal number of equal parts with
the whole.

Mem. To examine how far the not comprehending infinites
may be admitted as a plea.

Qu. Why may not the mathematicians reject all the extensions
below the M. as well as the dd^, &:c., w^h are allowed to be some-
thing, & consequently may be magnif/d by glasses into inches,
feet, &c., as well as the quantities next below the M. ?

Big, little, and number are the works of the mind. How there-
fore can ye extension you suppose in Matter be big or little ? How
can it consist of any number of points ?

Mem. Strictly to remark L[ocke], b. 2. c. 8. s. 8 ^i

Schoolmen compar'd with the mathematicians.

Extension is blended w* tangible or visible ideas, & by the
mind prgescinded therefrom.

Mathematiques made easy— the scale does almost all. The
scale can tell us the subtangent in ye parabola is double the
abscisse.

Wt need of the utmost accuracy w" the mathematicians own
in rerum natura they cannot find anything corresponding wth their
nice ideas.

^3 i.e. two individual things, or images of what he means by idea, what by quality,
two individual things. and what the relation between ideas and

In which Locke explains and illustrates qualities.

Commonplace Book, 495

One should endeavour to find a progression by trying w^h the
scale.

Newton's fluxions needless. Anything below a M. might serve
for Leibnitz's Differential Calculus.

How can they hang together so well, since there are in them
(I mean the mathematiques) so many contradtctoria argutia. V.
Barrow, Lect.

A man may read a book of conies with ease, knowing how to
try if they are right. He may take 'em on the credit of the
author.

Where's the need of certainty in such trifles ? The thing that
makes it so much esteem'd in them is that we are thought not
capable of getting it elsewhere. But we may in ethiques and
metaphysiques.

The not leading men into mistakes no argument for the truth
of the infinitesimals — they being nothings may perhaps do neither
good nor harm, except w" they are taken for something, & then
the contradiction begets a contradiction.

a + 500 nothings = a + 50 nothings — an innocent silly truth.

f. My doctrine excellently corresponds w^h the creation. I suppose
no matter, no stars, sun, &c. to have existed before.

It seems all circles are not similar figures, there not being the
same proportion betwixt all circumferences & their diameters.

When a small line upon paper represents a mile, the mathe-
maticians do not calculate the xowjx of the paper line, they calculate
the loooo of the mile. 'Tis to this they have regard, 'tis of this
they think, if they think or have any idea at all. The inch
perhaps might represent to their imaginations the mile, but ya
loooo of the inch cannot be made to represent anything, it not
being imaginable.

But the To^TJo of a mile being somewhat, they think the yir^xny of
the inch is somewhat: w" they think of y^ they imagine they
think on this.

3 faults occur in the arguments of the mathematicians for
divisibility ad infinitum —

496 Commonplace Book.

1. They suppose extension to exist without the mind, or

not perceived.

2. They suppose that we have an idea of length without

breadth 9^, or that length without breadth does exi^^t.

3. That unity is divisible ad infinitum.

To suppose a M. S. divisible is to say there are distinguishable
ideas where there are no distinguishable ideas.

The M. S. is not near so inconceivable as the s'tgnum in magni-
tudine individitum.

Mem. To examine the math, about their point — what it is —
something or nothing — and how it differs from the M. S.

All might be demonstrated by a new method of indivisibles,
easier perhaps and juster than that of Cavalierius ^^.

M. Unperceivable perception a contradiction.

^' Proprietates reales rerum omnium in Deo, tam corporum quum

^' spirituum continentur. Clerici, Log. cap. 8.

Let my adversaries answer any one of mine, I'll yield. If I
don't answer every one of theirs, I'll yield.

The loss of the excuse '^' may hurt Transubstantiation, but not
the Trinity.

We need not strain our imaginations to conceive such little
things. Bigger may do as well for infinitesimals, since the integer
must be an infinite.

Evident y^ wch has an infinite number of parts must be infinite.

Qu. whether extension be resoluble into points it does not
consist of?

Nor can it be objected that we reason about numbers, w^h are
only words & not ideas; for these infinitesimals are words of no
use if not supposed to stand for ideas ^^.

Axiom. No reasoning about things whereof we have no idea.
Therefore no reasoning about infinitesimals.

^ [or rather that invisible length does ness of our mind — making it possible for

exist.] — Author. contradictions to appear true to us.] —

'^ Bonaventura Cavalieri (1598 — 1647), Author.

the famous Italian mathematician. His ** But he allows elsewhere that words not

Geometry of Indivisibles (1635) prepared representative of ideas, i.e. of phenomena,

the way for the Calculus. may, in some circumstances, discharge a

*' [By the ' excuse ' is meant the finite- useful office.

Commonplace Book. 497

Much less infinitesimals of infinitesimals '''', &:c.
Axiom. No word to be used without an idea.

Our eyes and senses inform us not of the existence of matter
or ideas existing without the mind. They are not to be blam'd
for the mistake.

I defy any man to assign a right line equal to a paraboloid, but
w" lookM at thro' a microscope they may appear unequall.

Newton's harangue amounts to no more than that gravity is
proportional to gravity.

One can't imagine an extended thing without colour. V. Barrow,
L. G.

Men allow colours, sounds, &c. not to exist without the mind,
tho' they had no demonstration they do not. Why may they not
allow my Principle with a demonstration ?

Qu. whether I had not better allow colours to exist without
the mind; taking the mind for the active thing w^h I call 'I,'
* myself — y* seems to be distinct from the understanding ^ ?

The taking extension to be distinct from all other tangible
& visible qualities, & to make an idea by itself, has made men
take it to be without the mind.

I see no wit in any of them but Newton. The rest are meer
triflers, mere Nihilarians.

The folly of the mathematicians in not judging of sensations
by their senses. Reason was given us for nobler uses.

Keill's filling the world with a mite 2. This follows from the
divisibility of extension ad infinitum.

Extension ^ or length without breadth seems to be nothing
save the number of points that lie betwixt any 2 points. It
seems to consist in meer proportion — meer reference of the
mind.

To what purpose is it to determine the forms of glasses geo-
metrically ?

83 Cf. Analyst. ^ [Extension without breadth, i.e. insen-

^ i. e the personal or voluntary activity. sible, intangible length, is not conceivable.

* Keill's Introd%ictio ad veram Physicam 'Tis a mistake we are led into by the doc-

(Oxon. 1702) — Lectio 5 — a curious work, trine of abstraction.] — Author.

dedicated to the Earl of Pembroke.

VOL. IV. K k

498 Commonplace Book.

Sir Isaac ^ owns his book could have been demonstrated on the
supposition of indivisibles.
M. Innumerable vessels of matter. V. Cheyne.

I'll not admire the mathematicians. 'Tis wt any one of com-
mon sense might attain to by repeated acts. I prove it by ex-
perience. I am. but one of human sense, and I &c.

Mathematicians have some of them good parts — the more is
the pity. Had they not been mathematicians they had been good
for nothing. They were such fools they knew not how to employ
their parts.

The mathematicians could not so much as tell wherein truth &
certainty consisted, till Locke told 'em. I see the best of 'em
talk of light and colours as if w^^out the mind.

By Thing I either mean ideas or that wch has ideas.

Nullum prseclarum ingenium unquam fuit magnus mathe-
maticus. Scaliger.

A great genius cannot stoop to such trifles & minutenesses as
they consider.

An idea cannot exist unperceiv'd.

I. s All significant words stand for ideas.
3. All knowledge about our ideas.

3. All ideas come from without or from within.

4. If from without it must be by the senses, & they are call'd
sensations.

5. If from within they are the operations of the mind, & are
called thoughts.

6. No sensation can be in a senseless thing.

7. No thought can be in a thoughtless thing.

8. All our ideas are either sensations or thoughts, by 3, 4, 5.

9. None of our ideas can be in a thing wch is both thoughtless
& senseless. 6, 7, 8.

10. The bare passive recognition or having of ideas is called
perception.

5 J?5f^ ' ^"' ^^a^c.' shorter and more separate in the Treatise.!—

Lihese arguments must be proposed Author. See the Pn««>/«.

Commonplace Book. 499

11. Whatever has in it an idea, tho' it be never so passive, tho'
it exert no manner of act about it, yet it must perceive. 1 o.

12. All ideas either are simple ideas, or made up of simple
ideas.

13. That thing w^h is like unto another thing must agree w^h it
in one or more simple ideas.

14. Whatever is like a simple idea must either be another
simple idea of the same sort, or contain a simple idea of the same
sort. 13.

15. Nothing like an idea can be in an unperceiving thing.
II, 14. Another demonstration of the same thing.

16. Two things cannot be said to be alike or unlike till they have
been compar'd.

17. Comparing is the viewing two ideas together, & marking
wt they agree in and wt they disagree in.

18. The mind can compare nothing but its own ideas. 17.

19. Nothing like an idea can be in an unperceiving thing. 11,
16, 18.

N.B. Other arguments innumerable, both a priori & a posteriori^
drawn from all the sciences, from the clearest, plainest, most
obvious truths, whereby to demonstrate the Principle, i. e. that
neither our ideas, nor anything like our ideas, can possibly be in
an unperceiving thing 6.

N.B. Not one argument of any kind w^soever, certain or pro-
bable, a priori or a posteriorly from any art or science, from either
sense or reason, against it.

Mathematicians have no right idea of angles. Hence angles
of contact wrongly apply'd to prove extension divisible ad Infi-
nitum.

We have got the Algebra of pure intelligences.

^ This is the Berkeleian Principle in an that perceived things cannot be, or resemble,
early and crude stage of its development — unperceived things.

K k 2

500 Commonplace Book.

We can prove Newton's propositions more^ accurately, more
easily, 8c upon truer principles than himself.

Barrow owns the downfall of geometry. However I'll endea-
vour to rescue it — so far as it is useful, or real, or imaginable,
or intelligible. But for the nothings, I'll leave them to their
admirers.

I'll teach any one the whole course of mathematiques in ^^
part the time that another will.

Much banter got from the prefaces of the mathematicians.
P. Newton says colour is in the subtil matter. Hence Malbranch
proves nothing, or is mistaken, is asserting there is onely figure &
motion.

I can square the circle, &c., they cannot, wch goes on the best
principles.

The Billys^ use a finite visible line for an — .

T. Marsilius Ficinus — his appearing the moment he died solv'd by

my idea of time ^.
M. The philosophers lose their Matter. The mathematicians lose

their insensible sensations. The profane [lose] their extended

Deity. Pray wt do the rest of mankind lose ? As for bodies, &c.,

we have them still ^°.

N.B. The future philosoph. & mathem. get vastly by the

bargain.
P- There are men who say there are insensible extensions. There

are others who say the wall is not white, the fire is not hot, 8cc.

We Irishmen cannot attain to these truths.

The mathematiciams think there are insensible lines. About

these they harangue— these cut in a point at all angles— these

are divisible ad infinitum. We Irishmen can conceive no such

lines.

J [to the utmost accuracy, wanting no- assure him of the truth of the immortality

thing of perfection. Their solutions of of the human soul.

problems themselves must own to fall i" i. e. we have the phenomena presented

mfinitely short of perfection.]- Author. in perception, and these Berkeley every-

Jean de Billy and Ren^ de Billy, French where assumes to be true : what he leaves

mathematicians— the former author oi Nova more obscure is the test of inferences from

Geometric Clavis and other mathematical these phenomena — the nature of the as-

^94 J- sumptions by which physical and other sci-

According to Baronius, in the l^fth ence is discovered— which refutes the Scep-

volume of his 'Annals,' Ficinus appeared tics who reject any criterion by which general

to his friend Michael Mercatus, agreeably to knowledge can be constituted.
a promise he made when he was alive, to

Commonplace Book. 501

The mathematicians talk of wt they call a point. This, they
say, is not altogether nothing, nor is it downright something.
Now we Irishmen are apt to think something & nothing are next
neighbours.

Engagements to P.^^ on account of ye Treatise that grew up
under his eye, on account also of his approving my harangue.
Glorious for P. ^^ to be the protector of usefull tho' newly dis-
cover'd truths.

How could I venture thoughts into the world before I knew they
would be of use to the world ? and how could 1 know that till I
had try'd how they suited other men's ideas ?

I publish not this so much for anything else as to know whether
other men have the same ideas as we Irishmen. This is my end,
& not to be inform'd as to my own particular.

The Materialists & Nihilarians need not be of a party.

\The preceding Thoughts (pp. 419 — 501) are in what I have called
the ' Commonplace Book.' The same volume contains also the
^Description of the Cave of Dunmore^'' and some fragments of
the *■ Miscellanea Mathematica.' The six sentences ivhich follow
are on a page of the other small quarto volume^ mentioned in my
Preface.]

My speculations have the same effect as visiting foreign
countries : in the end I return where I was before, but my heart
at ease, and enjoying life with new satisfaction 1^.

Passing through all the sciences, though false for the most part,
yet it gives us the better insight and greater knowledge of the
truth.

" Lord Pembroke (?), to whom the Prin- reflective philosophy, which, in the words of

ciples were dedicated; as also Locke's Coleridge, 'produces the strongest impres-

Essay. sions of novelty, while it rescues admitted

12 Cf. Preface to the Dialogues between truths from the neglect caused by the very

Hylas and Pbilonoiis, where he speaks in circumstance of their universal admission.'
like manner of the educational effects of

502 Commoitplace Book.

He that would bring another over to his opinion, must seem to
harmonize with him at first, and humour him in his own way of
talking.

From my childhood I had an unaccountable turn of thought that
way 1^.

It doth not argue a dwarf to have greater strength than a
giant, because he can throw off the molehill which is upon him,
while the other struggles beneath a mountain.

The whole directed to practise and morality — as appears
first, from making manifest the nearness and omnipresence of
God j 2dly, from cutting oflF the useless labour of sciences, and
so forth.

^^ Does this refer merely to what is said according to the analogy of his matured
in the foregoing sentence, or to an early philosophy?
tendency to think about the sensible world

DESCRIPTION

OF THE

CAVE OF DUNMORE'.

There is one of the rarities of this kingdom which, though
I judge considerable enough to take place amongst the rest, yet
so it is I neither find it described nor so much as mentioned by
those who are curious in things of this nature — I mean the cave
of Dunmore. In default therefore of a better, I offer to the world
my own account of this remarkable place, so far as I shall be able

* The Cave of Dunmore is still one of the
wonders of the County of Kilkenny to natu-
ralists, archaeologists, and travellers. It is
a natural curiosity, and it also contains some
mysterious human remains. It has been
described by successive travellers. Berke-
ley's description, now published for the
first time, was written earlier than any
other known to me. The next, after Ber-
keley's, of which I am aware, is contained
in a Tour through Ireland, ' by two English
gentlemen,' published in Dublin in 1 74S,
where a detailed account of their visit to
the Cave, 124 years ago, is given. In the
Philosophical Tratisactio'is for 1773, there
is a letter to Dr. Morton, Sec. R. S., from
Mr. Adam Walker, dated Dublin, April 26,
1 771, ' containing an account of the Cavern
at Dunmore Park, near Kilkenny, in Ire-
land,' where it is compared with the Derby-
shire caverns. Campbell's Philosophical
Survey of Ireland, a few years later, has
a perftinctory reference, for he did not ven-
ture to enter the cave. Mr. Tighe's Statisti-
cal Survey of the County of Kilkenny de-
scribes Dunmore. Many other descriptions
and papers on the subject might be men-
tioned— the latest Dr. Foot's ' Account of
a Visit to the Cave of Dunmore, in Co.
Kilkenny, with some Remarks on Human
Remains found therein,' \n ihe. Journal of the
Historical and ArchcEological Association of
Ireland for January, 1870. Dr. Foot's visit
was on September 10, 1869, in company
with the Rev. James Graves (to whose kind-

ness in this and other investigations con-
cerning Berkeley I am indebted) and Mr.
Burtchael. The party carried away a num-
ber of human bones, now deposited in the
Museum of the Association. Dr. Foot refers
these remains to the tenth century, and con-
siders that they confirm the statement in the
Annals of the Kingdom of Ireland by the
Four Masters, that, in ' the age of Christ,
928, Godfrey, grandson of Inihar, with the
foreigners of Athcliath [Dublin] demolished
and plundered Dearc-Fearna [Dunmore Cave],
where one thousand persons were killed in
this year.' ' In the inmost recesses of
Dearc-Fearna,' Dr. Foot adds, ' unmistake-
able evidence of the truth of the statement,
that a wholesale massacre was perpetrated
there, exists— in the osseous remains of men,
women, and children, which, though not now
strewing the Cave in the same profusion as
they formerly did, may be procured in
quantities, by disturbing the surface of the
floor in a particular place.' An engraving of
the entrance to the Cave was given in the
Dublin Penny Journal in 1832. The ap-
pearance of the steep descent to the mouth
changes (as is manifest from successive de-
scriptions) by the growth or destiuction of
bushes, &c., and the action of the elements.
Berkeley's description of the Cave is
written at the end of his Commonplace
Book, but no date is given. His visit may
have been made in some of the vacations
of his college life. A. C. F.

504 Description of the

to copy it from what I remember either to have seen myself or
heard from others.

This cave is distant four miles from Kilkenny and two from
Dunmore, his grace the Duke of Ormond's country house, from
whence it has its name. Its mouth or entrance is situated in a
rising ground, and affords a very dismal prospect, being both wide
and deep, and on all sides rocky and precipitous save one, which
is a slope, part whereof is fashioned into a path and in some
places into steps. This as well as the rest of the sides is overrun
with elder 2 and other shrubs^ which add to the horror of the place,
and make it a suitable habitation for ravens, screech-owls, and
such like feral birds which abide in the cavities of the rock.

At the foot of this descent, by an opening which resembles a
wide arched gate, we entered into a spacious vault, the bottom
whereof is always shabby by reason of the continual distillation
of rock-water. Here we bad farewell to daylight, which was
succeeded by a formidable darkness that fills the hollows of this
capacious cavern. And having, by the help of our candles, spy'd
out our way towards the left •' hand, and not without some difficulty
clambered over a ruinous heap of huge unwieldy stones, we
descry'd a farther entrance into the rock, but at some distance
from the ground. Here nature seemed to have made certain round
stones jut out of the wall on purpose to facilitate our ascent.

Having gone through this narrow passage we were surprised
to find ourselves in a vast and spacious hall, the floor of which as
well as the sides and roof is rock, though in some places it be
cleft into very frightful chasms, yet for the most part is pretty
level and coherent; the roof is adorned with a multitude of small
round pipes as thick as a goose-quill, and, if I misremember not,
a foot long or thereabouts ; from each of 'em there distils a drop
of clear water, which, congealing at the bottom, forms a round,
hard, and white stone. The noise of these falling drops being
somewhat augmented by the echo of the cave, seems to make an
agreeable harmony amidst so profound a silence. The stones,
which I take to be three or four inches high (they all seeming
much of a bigness), being set thick in the pavement make a very
odd figure. Here is likewise an obelisque of a greyish colour, and

^ The early name of the Cave was Bearc « rj^^ j^^^j_ Berkeley is wrong as to

Fear«a, I.e. the alder cave. The alder tree the direction.
IS called in Irish /ear«.

Cave of Dunmore. 505

(I think) about three or four feet high. The drop which formed
it has ceased, so that it receives no farther increment.

This cave in the great variety of its congelations as well as
in some other respects seems not a little to resemble one I find
described by the name of Les Grottes d^Arcy, in a French treatise
Be rOrig'me des 'Fontaines^ dedicated to the famous Huygenius,
and printed at Paris in 1678 j but I must own that the French
cave has much the advantage of ours on account of the art and
regularity which nature has observed in forming its congelations,
or else that anonymous French author has infinitely surpassed me
in strength of fancy; for, after having given a long detail of
several things which he says are there represented by them, he
concludes with these words, ' Enfin I'on y voit les ressemblances
de tout ce qu'on peut I'imaginer, soit d'hommes, d'animaux, de
poissons, de fruits, 6cc.' : i.e. in short, here you may see whatever
you can possibly imagine, whether men, beasts, fishes, fruits, or
anything else. Now, though as much be confidently reported and
believed of our cave, yet, to speak ingenuously, 'tis more than
1 could find to be true : but, on the contrary, am mightily tempted
to think all that curious imagery is chiefly owing to the strength
of imagination ; for like as we see the clouds so far comply with
the fancy of a child, as to represent to him trees, horses, men,
or whatever else he's pleased to think on, so 'tis no difficult
matter for men of a strong imagination to fancy the petrified water
stamped with the impressions of their own brain, when in reality
it may as well be supposed to resemble one thing as another.

By what has been observed it appears the congelations are not
all of the same colour • the pipes look very like alum, the stones
formed by their drops are white inclining to yellow, and the
obelisque I mentioned differs from both. There is also a quantity
of this congealed water that by reason of its very white colour
and irregular figure at some distance resembles a heap of snow ;
and such at first sight I took it to be, much wondering how it
came there. When we approached it with a light it sparkled and
cast a lively lustre, and we discerned in its superficies a number
of small cavities. But the noblest ornament of this spacious hall
is a huge channelled pillar which, standing in the middle, reaches
from top to bottom. There is in one side of it a cavity that goes
by the name of the alabaster chair. The congelations which form

5o6 Description of the

lliis cokiiiiii arc of" a yellowish colour, and as to their shape some-
thing like the pipes oF an organ; but organs 1 Hnd arc no rarity
in places ol- this nature, they being to be met not only in the cave
of Arcy and that of Antiparos described in the same treatise,
pp. 279 and 287, but also in one near the Firth of Forth in Scotland,
tnentioned by Sir Rt)bert Sibbald in the Philosophical Transactiotts^
No. iiiK This I look upon to be in all respects by far the greatest
pillar I ever saw, and believe its pedestal, which is of a dark
colour and with a glorious sparkling reflects the light of a candle,
may be as much as three men can well fathom.

r am conceiiK'd thai 1 liiti not take the dimensions both of this
k)fty pillar and of the other things 1 endeavour to describe. 1
am sorry 1 cannot furnish the curious with an exact account of
the length, l>reailth, and height o^ these subterraneous chambers,
and have reason to think my reader has by this time often blamed
me \'ox using such undetermined expressions as wide, narrow, deep,
^'c, where something more accurate may be looked for. All 1
can say is that I endeavour to give a faithful account of this place,
so far as 1 can recollect at the distance of almost seven years,
and am of opinion this imperfect sketch might not be altogether
unacceptable to the curious till such time as sonu one shall have
an (Opportunity of giving \-m a more full and accurate description
o'i this place.

1 iere it was I desired one i>f our company to tire otf his gun ;
the sound we heard for a considerable time loU through the hollows
of the earth, and at length it cmild not so properly be said to
cease as go out t^f our hearing. I have been told that a in>ise thus
made in the cave may be heard by one walking in the great aisle
o'( St. Canic's church in Kilkenny % but know no one who ever
maile the experiment.

Having viewed the wonders of this place and not discovering
any further passage, we returned through the narrow entrance we
came in by. And here I cannot but call to mind how two or
three dogs we brought along with us, not venturing to go any
further, stayed behind in the outer cavern ; these creatures seemed

* This is in a Idler from Sir Roliert nun, who was boi\i there.' Cf. p. 66.
Sibbald to Dr. Martin Lister, published in * The cathedral ot" St. Canice. The guides

the I'bilos. IVtvis. tor October, 1696. Tlie tell that a y\\K^r, who strayed into the re-

lettcr refers. l\v the way, for some particulars cesses of the Cave, was heard playing undcr-

of the natural history of the Isle of Skye, to ground, near St. Mary's church, "in Kil-

' Mr. Martin, uiy friend a curious gentle- k-inn-.

Cave of Dunmore. 507

to be very much amazed at the horrid solitude wherewith they
were environed, and, as it were to lament their deplorable state, set
themselves to howl with all their might, which hideous yelling,
continued through the sonorous windings of the cave and re-
verberated from the ambient rocks, would undoubtedly have put
us in no small consternation had we not known who were the
authors of it. By this time some of our company thought they
had seen enough, and were very impatient to get out of this
dreadful dungeon. The rest of us went on through a passage
opposite to the former, and much of the same widcness, which led
us into another cave that appeared every way formidably vastj
and though the interval of time may have rendered my ideas of
several things I there saw dim and imperfect, yet the dismal
solitude, the fearful darkness, and vast silence of that stupendous
cavern have left lasting impressions in my memory. The bottom
is in great part strewed with huge massive stones, which seem by
the violence of an earthquake to have been torn from the rock,
and the menacing brows of the shattered remains which threaten
every moment to tumble from the njof are apt to raise terrible
apprehensions in the mind of one who beholds them over his head.
One who visited this place in company of some others told me
that when they were just come out of it they heard a dreadful
noise from within, which they imputed to the fall of some of
those rocky fragments. Advancing forward we met with a great
white congelation set against the side of the cave, which some-
what resembles a pulpit with a canopy over it, and hard by we
saw the earth turned up at the entrance of a rabbit-hole, and
I have heard otb>crs affirm that very far in this dark and dismal
place they have met with fresh rabbits'-dung; now to me it seems
strange to conceive what these little animals can live on, for it
passes imagination to think they can find the way in and out
of the cave, unless they can see in the dark. Having gone a little
further, we were surprised with the agreeable murmur of a rivulet f"
falling through the clefts of the rock^ it skims along the side of
the cave, and may be, as I guess, about six feet over ; its water
is wonderfully cool and pleasant, and so very clear that, where
I thought it was scarce an inch deep, I found myself up to my
knees. This excellent water runs but a little way ere the rock
gapes to swallow it.

" This rivulet has ceased to run. It is now a small pool.

5o8 Description of the

But what is most surprising is that the bottom of this spring is
ail overspread with dead men's bones, and for how deep I cannot
tell. On the brink there lies part of a skull, designed as a drink-
ing bowl for those whom either thirst or curiosity may prompt
to taste of this subterraneous fountain j neither need any one's
niceness be offended on account of the bones, for the continual
current of the water has sufficiently cleansed them from all filth
and putrefaction. 'Tis likewise reported that there are great
heaps of dead men's bones to be seen piled up in the remote
recesses of this cavern, but what brought them thither there's not
the least glimpse of tradition that ever I could hear of to inform
us. 'Tis true I remember to have heard one tell how an old
Irishman, who served for a guide into the cave, solved him this
problem, by saying that in days of yore a certain carnivorous beast
dwelling there was wont furiously to lay about him, and whoever
were unhappy enough to come in his way hurry them for food
into that his dreadful den. But this, methinks, has not the least
show of probability, for, in the first place, Ireland seems the freest
country in the world from such manslaughtering animals, and,
allowing there was some such pernicious beast, some anomalous
production of this country, then, those bones being supposed the
relicks of devoured men, one might reasonably expect to find 'em
scattered up and down in all parts of the cave, rather than piled
up in heaps or gathered together in the water. There are who 'M-
guess that, during the Irish rebellion in '41, some Protestants,
having sought refuge in this place, were there massacred by the Irish.
But if it were so, methinks we should have something more than
bare conjecture to trust to ; both history and tradition could never
have been silent in it, and the Irishman I just now spoke of must
certainly have known it, though of him indeed it might be said 1^^:.
he would be apt to conceal the barbarous cruelty of his country- ''^\'
men. Moreover, 'tis observed the deeper bodies are laid in the li^
earth, so as to be sheltered from the injuries and change of the WV
weather ; they remain the longer uncorrupted. But I never heard !)• i
that they who have seen these bones about thirty or forty years ago ) "■
observed any difference in them as to their freshness from what ( '
they are at present. Who knows but in former times this cave : '
served the Irish for the same purpose for which those artificial
caves of Rome and Naples called catacombs were intended by

Cave of DiLumore. 509

the ancients, i.e. was a repository for their deadj but still what
should move them to lay the bones we saw in the water I cannot
possibly divine. 'Tis likewise very hard to imagine why they
were at the pains to drag the corses through long and narrow
passages, that so they might inter them farther in the obscure
depths of the cave; perhaps they thought their deceased friends
would enjoy a more undisturbed security in the innermost chambers
of this melancholy vault '.

Proceeding forward we came to a place so low that our heads
almost touched the top; a little beyond this we were forced to
stoop, and soon after creep on our knees. Here the roof was
thick set with crystal pipes, but they had all given over dropping;
they were very brittle, and as we crept along we broke 'em off with
our hats, which rubbed against the roof. On our left hand we saw
a terrible hiatus, that by its black and scaring looks seemed to
penetrate a great way into the bowels of the earth. And here we
met with a good quantity of petrified water, in which, though folks
may fancy they see the representations of a great many things,
yet I profess 1 know not what more fitly to compare it to than to
the blearings of a candle. These congelations which stood in our
way had almost stopped up the passage, so that we were obliged
to return.

I will not deny that there are other passages which by a
diligent search we might have discovered, or a guide acquainted
with the place have directed us to. For 'tis generally thought no
one ever went to the end of this cave, but that being sometimes
forced to creep through narrow passages, one comes again into
great and spacious vaults. 1 have heard talk of several persons
who are said to have taken these subterraneous journeys, parti-
cularly one St. Leger, who, having provided a box of torches and
victuals for himself and his man, is reported to have travelled
for the space of two or three days in the untrodden paths of this
horrible cave, and that when his victuals were well-nigh spent
and half his torches burnt out, he left his sword standing in the
ground and made haste to return. I have also been told that
others, having gone a great way, wrote their names on a dead
man's skull, which they set up for a monument at their journey's

^ Dr. Foot's paper in the Archceological tains a minute description and a probable
yournal, referred to in a former note, con- explanation of these human remains.

5 TO Description of the

end. But I will not vouch for the truth of these and many other
stories I have heard, many whereof are apparently fabulous.

But one thing I am very credibly informed, viz. that out of the
first cavern whence we entered into the two caves I already spoke
of, there was formerly a passage into a third, which has been
stopped up by the fall of such pendulous rocks as are above men-
tioned ; and that, about thirty years ago, a grave and inquisitive
gentleman of these parts, having gone a great way in the said
cave, spy'd a hole in one side of it, into which, when his man
had thrust his head in order to discover what sort of a place
it was, the gentleman was amazed to find him speechless, where-
upon he straightway drew him forth, and firing oft his pistol to
put the air in motion, the man, whom the stagnating damp had
caused to faint, came to himself, and told his master he had seen
within the hole a huge and spacious cavern. This accident dis-
couraged the gentleman from prosecuting his journey for the present,
though he saw a plain and direct way before his face j nevertheless
he designed to return soon after, and make a diligent inquiry into
the nature and extent of that mysterious place, but was prevented
by death.

After all, I have known some so unreasonable as to question
whether this cave was not the workmanship of men or giants in
old time, though it has all the rudeness and simplicity of nature,
and is much too big for art. Nor is there anything so strange or
unaccountable in it, considering its entrance is in a hill, and the
country all around it hilly and uneven ; for, from the origin of hills
and mountains as it is delivered by Descartes ^, and since him by
our later theorists, 'tis plain they are hollow and include vast caverns,
which is further confirmed by experience and observation.

Soon after I finished the foregoing description of the cave, I
had it revised by Mr. William Jackson, a curious and philosophical
young gentleman, who was very lately there. He said the account
I gave was very agreeable to what he himself had seen, and was
pleased to allow it a greater share of exactness than I durst
have claimed to it. He had with him an ingenious friend,
who designed to have taken the plan and dimensions of the
several caverns and whatever was remarkable in them, but the
uneasiness they felt from a stifling heat hindered them from

* Principla, Pars Quarta, cap. 44.

Cave of Dunmo7'e. 511

staying in the cave so long as was requisite for that purpose.
This may seem somewhat surprising, especially if it be observed
that we on the contrary found it extremely cool and refreshing.
Now, in order to account for this alteration, 'tis to be observed
those gentlemen felt the heat about the beginning of spring, before
the influence of the sun was powerful enough to open the pores
of the earth, which as yet were close shut by the cold of the pre-
ceding winter, so that those hot streams which are continually
sent up by the central heat (for that there is a central heat all
agree, though men differ as to its cause, some deriving from
an incrusted star, others from the nucleus of a comet sunburnt
in its perihelium), remained pent up in the cavern, not finding
room to perspire through the uppermost strata of rock and earth j
whereas I was there about a month after the summer solstice,
when the solar heat had for a long time and in its full strength
dwelt upon the face of the earth, unlocking its pores and thereby
yielding a free passage to the ascending streams '^. Mr. Jackson
informed me of another observable [fact] that I had not taken notice
of, viz. that some of the bones which lay in the water were covered
over with a stony crust, and Mr. Bindon (so was the other gentle-
man called) told me he met with one that to him seemed petrified
throughout.

Before I have done I must crave leave to advertise my reader
that where, out of compliance with custom, I use the terms con-
gelation, petrification, &c., I would not be understood to think
the stones formed of the droppings were made of mere water
metamorphosed by any lapidific virtue whatever j being, as to their
origin and consistence, entirely of the learned Dr. Woodward's
opinion, as set forth in his Natural History of the Eartb'^^y pp. 191
and 192, where he takes that kind of stone, by naturalists termed
stalactites, to be only a concretion of such stony particles as are
borne along with the water in its passage through the rock from
whence it distils.

® This agrees remarkably with modern versal Deluge, and of the Effects thai it bad

science, and is also characteristic of Berkeley, upon the Earth, by Jolin Woodward, M.D.,

who gives so many signs of fondness for such Professor of Physick in Grcsham College,

speculations. The first edition appeared in London in

'" An Essay towards the Natural History 1695, and the second in 1723. The rcr

of the Earth. With an Account 0/ the Uni- ference here is to the first edition.

JOURNAL

OF A

TOUR IN ITALY IN 1717. 1718.'

Jan. 7, 1717. N.S.

This morning I paced a gallery in the Vatican four hundred
and eighty-eight paces long. We saw the famous library in that
palace. It contains seventy-two thousand volumes, MSS. and
printed. The building surely is not to be equalled in that kind,
being nobly proportioned and painted by the best hands. It is in
this form | the greatest length about eight hundred foot.
The books are all contained in desks or presses, whose backs
stand to the wall. These desks are all low, of an equal height,
so that the highest books are within reach without the least
straining. We saw

a Virgil in MS. above fourteen hundred

1 [The journey of Berkeley during his
second sojourn in Italy is partially recorded
in four small volumes (now among the
Berkeley Papers) which were evidently his
travelling companions. Indeed one is
almost tempted to believe that they were
partly written in the carriage. A part of
the record is in pencil, and for the most
part is still legible. These journals are
printed here almost in extenso, as they serve
to illustrate his habit of observing everything
that passed before him with great minute-
ness and accuracy. They form also a very
curious Itinerary of a part of the Classical
Land of Italy not often visited. Some few
quotations from printed books have been
omitted with a simple reference to the pas-
sages quoted. The Journal is kept entirely
on the right-hand pages of the volumes,
and these quotations, as well as some other
notes, are inserted on the left-hand page.
Where it has been judged desirable, they are
introduced within brackets, with the letter
M (for Marginal note) attached to them.
It will appear that Berkeley, being at Rome,
did, in one respect, as they do at Rome,
for he dates his Journal according to the
reformed Gregorian Calendar, adding N.S.

to the date. It was not till thirty-five years
afterwards (A.D.i 752) that England adopted
this correction.

The volumes have no connection, except
as far as the dates and the course of the
journey, indicate their dependence. I have
traced the route followed, for the most part,
by Orgiazzi's Map of Italy, and Cramer's
Ancient Italy; and I have occasionally in-
serted names in notes or brackets where
there is a variation.

As far as the testimony of the present
record is concerned, it would appear that
the travellers, after a sojourn of some dura-
tion in Rome, set out for the south of Italy.
The Journals now published contain no
record of the interval between Jan. 25, 17 '7»
and May 5, 171 7. At the former date
they were in Rome, and on the latter left
Naples for a tour in the more southern
portion of Italy. Probably a volume of the
series, containing the Journal of that inter-
val, has been lost, like the Sicilian Journal.
We find that the travellers were returning
in September, as one of the dates in the
Journal of Naples and Ischia is September,
1 717. Indeed the time of their return
seems indicated under the date of June the

youriial of a Tour in Italy.

513

•years old. It wanted the four disputed verses in the beginning
of the yEneid. They shewed us another that seemed of an earlier
date, but it was imperfect. Both these books were written in
great letters without any space between the words. The first had
inter-punctuations, the other none : both were illuminated with
pictures, but those of the former were much more barbarous than
the other, which is look[ed] on as an argument that it is less
ancient. We saw a Terence of much the same age, as we could
judge by the character. A Septuagint of great antiquity with
accents. Uteris uncialibus. Henry the VlII's love letters to Anna
Boleyn ; and his book against Luther, which procured him the title
of Defender of the Faith. In his letter to the pope prefixed to this
treatise he plainly assumes the composition of it to himself (which

9th. The latest date in these Journals ap-
pears to be April 13, 1718, where Berkeley
describes his arrival at Rome. They visited
Naples and Ischia on their return, and (as
recorded in a pencil note prefixed to the
account of the Postal Stages between Naples
■and Rome) they left Naples April 11, 17 18.
One circumstance cannot fail to strike the
reader, I mean the great interest Berkeley
appears to have taken in regard to the
Tarantula and the Tarantati. He seems to
have taken great pains to ascertain the
truth on this matter, and upon the whole
he appears favourable to the belief that the
bite of this spider causes a desire for dancing
at certain times, and that eventually the
dancing effects the cure of the disease, when
it does admit of cure. I believe that this is
not in accordance with the result of more
recent investigations *, and we may perhaps
feel some surprise at the amount of evidence
collected by Berkeley in confirmation of his
view. But without being given to scep-
ticism, reason and experience lead us to
conclude, that when any abnormal affection
of the nerves exists, we may expect a constant
repetition of the same effect in different
cases, where the same cause exists. The
imagination is excited, and renders the
patient prone to imitate any extravagances,

which are thought to characterize the dis-
eased persons. I do not think that such
considerations are sufficient to determine the
question, which is one of evidence only, but
they must be always taken into the account.
The evidence collected by Berkeley from
personal observation will, however, always
prove interesting, whatever our conclusion
may be as to the reality of the influence of
the bite of the Tarantula.

There is another point also about these
Journals which requires notice. They in-
dicate a great familiarity with classical
writers. The left-hand pages very often
illustrate the journey by references to the
ancient geographers and historians, as well
as quotations from most of the Latin poets.
Many of these it would be needless to insert,
as they are for the most part to be found in
Cramer's Italy. But they show a readiness
and exactness which were not so easily at-
tained in Berkeley's day as in our own.
There are also many quotations and refer-
ences to modern Italian books. In a letter,
or a kind of discourse, addressed by the
widow of the bishop to her son, she speaks of
his very wide acquaintance with every class
of books, and he certainly exhibits in these
volumes very extensive reading +. H. J. R.]

* In Cuvier's ^«i'»m/A'«i^rft>;«, under the family ^?-(jfA»!Vf«, gen. /.>'r«a, we read as follows :— .....

' A species of this genus, the tarentula, so called from Tarentum, in the environs of which it is comnion, is high y
celebrated. The poisonous nature of its i>ite is tliought to produce the most serious consequences, being frequently
followed by death or Tnreiitism, results which can only be avoided by the aid of music and dancing. Well-informed
persons, however, think it more necessary in these cases to combat the terrors of the imagination, than to apply an
antidote to the poison ; medicine at all events presents other means of cure.' xt /-i k •

■ Several curious observations on the Lycosa Tarentula of the south of France have been published by M. Chabrier,
Acad, de Lille, fascic. IV, Cuvier, Hng. Trans, vol. III. p. 307. I had not seen these observations when I wrote the
remarks I have made in the text. — H. J. R. ,

t In Berkeley's account of the MSS. in the Vatican Library (Jan. 7, 1717), he mentions a ' Septuagint. 1 nis must
be the celebrated Codex B, although Berkeley does not even notice that it contains the .Mew Testament also.
Nothing can shew more clearly how little general progress Scripture criticism had then made ; though only three
years aftenvards Bentley procured a collation of that MS. See Scrivener, Tischendorf, and Burgon s LeIUrs Jroxt
Rome.

vor„ IV.

5 14 yournal of a

I observe, because it is doubted by some). The book is fairly
writ on vellum: it is subscribed by the king's own hand. The
epistle dedicatory is full of respect to the pope. I read the first
chapter. His arguments are altogether ad hominem and ad vere-
cundiam. The style is better than the reasoning, which shews
the prince and the soldier rather than the scholar. In the after-
noon we saw the statues in Belvedere part of the Vatican. The
principal are Cleopatra, Apollo (found in the Baths of Caracalla),
the famous Laocoon, and Antinous. These are all masterpieces
of antiquity. The Apollo and Laocoon can never be enough
admired.

A little after the seventeenth hour Mr. Ashe and I waited on
Cardinal Gualtieri. He, as the greatest part of the Roman car-
dinals and nobles, hath his apartments up two pair of stairs,
which they esteem for the goodness of the air. In the ante-
chamber we met with a good number of gentlemen, lay as well as
ecclesiastic. I signified to a gentleman (a knight of some order,
for every cardinal hath knights and counts for his domestics) that
we wished to kiss his eminence's hands ; upon which he conducted
us into an inner spacious chamber with a fire (which is no com-
mon thing in Italy) : another gentleman was charged with the
message to the cardinal, who immediately came to us. He is
about sixty, a jolly well-looking man, grey hair, rather low than
tall, and rather fat than lean. He entertained us with a great
deal of frankness and civility. We sate all in armed chairs round
the fire. We were no sooner seated, but his eminence obliged us
to put on our hats, which we did without ceremony, and he put
on his cardinal's square cap. We discoursed on several subjects,
as the affairs of England, those of the Turks and Venetians, and
several other topics, in all which his eminence shewed himself
a man of sense, good breeding, and good humour. He occasion-
ally told us a curious point of natural history. The pope every
morning regales the cardinals with a present of his own bread.
This bread used to be excellent when his holiness lived at the
Vatican, but upon his removal to Monte Cavallo, though the
same bakers, the same water, and the same corn were employed,
yet it was found impossible to make the bread so good there as it
was at the Vatican, which the cardinal did imagine to proceed

Tour 171 Italy. 515

from some unaccountable quality in the air. He talked to us of
the carnival, and invited us very civilly to see the triumphs out
of a balcony in his palace, which he told us stood very conve-
niently. When by our silence we shewed an inclination to be
going, his eminence took off his cap and said he would no longer
abuse our patience. It is not reckoned manners to break off a
visit to a cardinal before you are dismissed by him. The form
being in that as in other points to treat them as crowned heads,
to whom they are esteemed equal. In the afternoon we went to
the Villa Borghese. I liked the gardens, they are large, have
fine cut walks, white deer, statues, fountains, groves ; nothing of
the little French gout, no parterres. If they are not so spruce
and trim as those in France and England, they are nobler and, I
think, much more agreeable. The house is noble, and hath the
richest outside that I have anywhere seen, being enchased with
beautiful relievos of antiquity. The portico was furnished with
old chairs, very entire, being of hard stone, coloured red in some
places and gilt in others, carved too with several devices. It was
too dark to see the pictures, so we put off viewing the inside to
another time.

9-
Our first visit this day was to the sepulchre of Cestius. This
'building is pyramidal, of great smoothed pieces of marble. A con-
siderable part of it is now underground, but what appears is about
a hundred foot in length, each side of the square basis, and about a
hundred and fifty the side of the pyramid. There is a chamber
within in which there have been not many years ago several antique
figures painted in fresco. They are now defaced and the entrance
made up. This monument lies between the Mons Aventinus and
the Mons Testaceus. Having viewed the sepulchre of Cestius, we
ascended the Mons Testaceus, from whence we had a fair pro-
spect of Rome. This mount was formed in the time of old Rome
by the potters, who had this place appointed them for heaping
together their rubbish, to prevent their choking the Tiber. You
see the mount to be made up of bits of broken potsherds. After
this we went along the Via Ostiensis (of which we could still see
some remains) to St. Paul's church. By the wayside we saw a
chapel with a bas-relief representing the parting embrace between
St. Peter and St. Paul. The inscription tells you this is the spot

L 1 2

5 1 6 Journal of a

where those holy martyrs were parted as they went to their
martyrdom, the one (St. Peter) turning to the right to Montorio,
the other going to the Tre Fontane. St. Paul's church, which
stands above a mile out of the town, was built by Constantine:
there are nevertheless two ranges of noble Corinthian pillars on
both sides of the great isle, that seem too elegant for that age, in
which the arts were much on the decline. Probably they be-
longed to some more ancient building. On the floor of this
church we saw a column of white marble in shape of a candle-
sticky for which purpose it had been made in Constantine's time.
•It was all over adorned with very rude sculpture. Under the
great altar there lie one half of the bodies of St. Peter and St. Paul
(the other half being under the great altar of St. Peter's). The rude
painting and mosaic deserves no regard. 1 must not forget that
this church is very rich in indulgences. We read in an inscription
on the wall, that an indulgence of above six thousand years was
got by a visit to that church on any ordinary day, but a plenary
remission on Christmas and three or four other days. I asked a
priest that stood by whether by virtue of that remission a man
was sure of going straight to heaven without touching at purga-
tory, in case he should then die. His answer was that he cer-
tainly would. From this church we went to that of the Three
Fountains, four miles from Rome southward. This is a small
church built in the place where St. Paul was beheaded. They
shewed us in a corner of the church the very pillar of white
marble on which his head was cut off. The head, say they, made
three leaps, and a fountain sprung up at each leap. These foun-
tains are now shewn in the church, and strangers never fail to
drink of them, there being an indulgence (I think) of a hundred
years attending that function. The altar-piece of this church is
finely painted by Guido Reni. At a small distance from this
church there is another called Scala Coeli, from a vision of St.
Bernard's, who, say they, as he was celebrating mass in this place
saw angels drawing the souls in purgatory up to heaven. This
vision we saw painted in the church. Underneath, they tell you,
are interred 10303 Christian soldiers with the Tribune Zeno, who
were picked out of the Roman army and martyred in this place.
All these odd things are not only told by the monks or friars, but
inscribed in marble in the churches.

Tour in Italy. 517

10.

Mr. Hardy, the Abbate Barbieri, Mr. Ashe, and I went this
morning to see the famous Farnesian Palace. The gallery so
much spoken of proved smaller than I expected, but the painting
is excellent; it is all over done in fresco by Annibal Carache.
Here and in other parts of the palace we saw several fine antique
busts and statues. The principal are the Hercules, commonly
called the Farnesian Hercules, the Flora, the bust of Caracalla,
the flesh whereof is wonderfully soft and natural, and an admirable
group of Zethus, Amphion, Antiope, Dirce, and a bull, all cut of
one stone, done by two Rodians. The two young men, sons of
the Theban king, tie Dirce to the bull's horns in order to preci-
pitate her into a well (as the inscription on a tablet hung by the
statue tells you). The bull and the men are incomparably well
done, but there is little expression in the face of Dirce, which
makes me suspect the head to be modern. The easiness, the
strength, the beauty, and the muscles of the Hercules cannot be
too much admired. The drapery of the Flora is admirable, and
the bust of Antoninus Caracalla is flesh and blood — nothing can
be softer. In the afternoon we drove out of town through the
Porta Collatina, leaving Lucullus's gardens on the left hand and
Sallustius's on the right. We got by three a clock of our reckon-
ing to the Villa Borghese. The outside and gardens we had seen
before ; we spent this afternoon in viewing the apartments. The
greatest part of the pictures are copies. I remember some good
ones of Corregio, and the famous Battle of Constantine by Julio
Romano. In the apartments of this villa we saw several excellent
statues : those most remarkable of the antique are the Hermaphro-
dite, the Gladiator, and, on the outside of the wall, that of Curtius
on horseback leaping into the cavern. I must not forget three
statues of Bernini in these apartments, that raise my idea of that
modern statuary almost to an equality with the famous ancients
— Apollo and Daphne, iF,neas with Anchises on his shoulders,
David going to fling the stone at Goliah. The grace, the softness,
and expression of these statues is admirable. In our return we
•took a walk round part of the walls of the city. Both walls and
turrets were pretty entire on that side. They have stood since
Justinian's time, having been built by Bellisarius. We entered

5 1 8 • Journal of a

the city at the Porta Viminalis, stepped into the Victoria, a
beautiful church encrusted with ornaments of the richest stones,
as jallo antico, verde antico, jaspers, &c. In this are hung-up
trophies taken from the Turks. After this, we paid a second
visit to Dioclesian's Baths, admiring the lofty remains of that
stupendous fabric, which is now possessed by the Carthusians.
In the pavement of the church, made out of the standing part of
the baths, we saw a meridian line (like that of Bologna) drawn by
the learned Bianchini.

1 1.

This morning Mr. Domvile and I spent in looking for Greek
books. The shops are but ill furnished, and give one a mean idea
of the Roman literature. In the afternoon we took the air on the
Mons Quirinalis — drove by Montalto's gardens towards S. Maria
Maggiore and S. John de Lateran.

12.

In the forenoon I took a walk on the mount behind our lodging,
on which stands the church and convent of La Trinita, overlook-
ing the Piazza d'Espagne, anciently the Naumachia Domitiana.
From thence I had a good prospect of Monte Cavallo, St. Peter's,
and the intermediate parts of the town. When I had amused
myself some time here, I walked towards the Porta del Popolo,
where we first entered the town. By the way I stepped into the
church dedicated to St. Ambrose and St. Charles. I viewed some
good pictures in it. It hath a dome and a handsome fa9ade. Tlie
Piazza del Popolo is contrived to give a traveller a magnificent
impression of Rome upon his first entrance. The Guglio ^ in the
middle, the two beautiful churches of the same architecture that
front the entrance, standing on either side of the end of the Corso,
or great street directly opposite to the gate, carrying the eye in a
straight line through the middle of the city almost to the Capitol •
while on the sides there strike off two other straight streets,
inclined in equal angles to the Corso, the one leading to the
Piazza d'Espagne, the otlier towards the Piazza Navona. From
the Guglio your prospect shoots through these three streets. All
this I say is contrived to produce a good effect on the eye of a

^ [Berkeley distinctly writes Guglio. The usual form is Guglia, which also means a
needle.]

Tour in Italy. 519

new-comer. The disposition, it must be owned, is pleasing, and
if the ordinary houses that make up the greatest part of the streets
were more agreeable and regular, would make a very noble pro-
spect. The Guglio or Obelisk in the middle of the Piazza is a
noble monument brought from Egypt and set up in the Circus
Maximus by Augustus Cesar, where it was dug up in the time of
Sixtus Quintus, and by order of that pope set upon pedestal in this
place and dedicated to the cross. It was the same pope that
caused the greatest part, if not all, the guglios to be erected in
the several piazzas of Rome, e. g. in the Piazza Navona, Piazza
di S. Pietro, Piazza di S. Maria Maggiore, before the Minerva,
Sec. The greatest, as everybody knows, is that in the Piazza of
St. Peter. Most of these obelisks are scribbled over with hierogly-
phics. They are each of a single piece of granite. Nothing can
give one a higher notion of the stupendous magnificence of the
old Egyptian monarchs who made these obelisks than that the
Roman emperors in their greatest glory valued themselves upon
bringing them from Egypt; and the most spirited of the popes
looked upon it as the greatest event of his life to be able to place
one of them on its pedestal. In the afternoon we walked to the
Piazza di Navona, enquired for books, and viewed the fa9ades of
several palaces by the way. Over the doors of the palaces of the
cardinals, princes, and public ministers there hang up several
coats of arms, whereof the pope regnant's is sure to be one ; e. g.
over Ottoboni's portal we saw the arms of his holiness, the arms
of France because he is protector of the French nation, those of
Venice because he is a Venetian, and those of the S. P. Q^R.

13-
Mr. Hardy, Mr. Ashe, and myself drove in the forenoon to
St. Peter's, where we entertained ourselves in reviewing and ex-
amining the structure, with the statues and pictures that adorn it.
Of the pictures, those which most pleased me were a St. Sebastian
of Dominiquin and the assumption of St. Petronilla by Guercino,
the chiaro-oscuro of the latter giving it so strong a relief that it
deceives the eye beyond any picture in the church \ and the body
of St. Sebastian is a very fine figure. The expression too of the
bystanders, particularly a commanding soldier on horseback, is ad-
mirable. Having seen the palace of Farnese and the Borghesian

520 younial of a

villa since my being last at St. Peter's, the statues did not near
please me now so much as then. You may see grace, beauty,
and a fine attitude in these statues of Algardi, Porta, Bernini,
Sec. They have sometimes a fine expression in the face \ but on
a near inspection you perceive nothing so finished, none of those
delicate contours, those softnesses, that life and breath that you
discover in the fine antiques. The best statue in St. Peter's, in my
judgment, is the Dead Christ of M, Angelo Bonaroti. I must not
forget an old Gothic iron statue of St. Peter that stands in one side
of the great isle, the feet whereof are much worn away by kissing.
We saw a soldier not only kiss the feet, but also rub his head and
face upon them. From St. Peter's we went to the Loggie of the
Vatican to view Raphael's pictures there, which detained us till
it was passed dinner time. We saw nothing after dinner.

14.

In the morning Dr. Chenion, Mr. Hardy, Mr. Ashe, and I enter-
tained ourselves with the sight of the palace of Don Livio Odes-
calchi, Duke of Bracciano ; where we saw in the upper apartments
a great number of fine pictures by the best masters. I remarked
particularly a famous one of Raphael's, said to have cost fourteen
thousand crowns : it is a small piece of the Blessed Virgin, with
two puttini, our Saviour and St. John the Baptist : it is full of life
and grace. Below stairs we saw several vaulted chambers well
furnished with statues, ancient and modern, as well as with many
beautiful pillars of antique stones, the mines whereof are now
either exhausted or unknown. From thence we went to the
palace of Prince Borghese. This is a vast palace, the salons and
chambers spacious and lofty, as well as many in number : there is
particularly one fine vista through nine rooms, that is lengthened
by a hole cut through an adjacent house (which the prince bought
for that purpose) to a fountain and a beautiful passage. In this
palace we saw an incredible number of fine pictures. They are
reckoned to be seventeen hundred. Many portraits by Titian
that seemed to breathe. Fine soft graceful pieces of Corregio.
Excellent ones of Raphael, Annibal Carache, Guercino, Guido
Reni, Reubens, Lanfranc, Paul Veronese, Sec. I must particularly
remark that famous piece of Titian's, where Venus is represented
binding Cupid's eyes. They shewed us two pictures, the one said

Tour in Italy. 521

to be nine hundred years old : the other since the days of Romu-
lus; it is on metal in a barbarous taste, and represents the rape of
the Sabines. In the garden we saw several water-works and
statues. In the afternoon we visited churches, particularly the
Pantheon, and the two principal churches of the Jesuits, that of
Jesus and that of St. Ignatius. The eye is never weary with view-
ing the Pantheon. Both the rotunda itself and the vestibule dis-
cover new beauties every time we survey them. The beauty and
delicacy of the pillars of jallo antico within, as well as the
grandeur^ the nobleness, and the grace of the granite pillars with-
out, cannot be too much admired. Over the great altar in the upper
end of the church we saw a repository, in which they say is con-
tained a picture of the Madonna by Saint Luke. They pretend to
have six or seven more by the same hand in other churches of
Rome, but they are kept shut up (as well as the image of our
Saviour at St. Paul's Church that spoke to St. Bridgit), so that it
is hardly possible to get a sight of them except at some extraordi-
nary time when they are exposed out of devotion. The church of
St. Ignatius is richly painted. The ceiling is raised by the per-
spective of Padre Pozzo^ and a cupola is so represented by the
same hand in perspective that it wonderfully deceives the eye as
one waiks towards it from the door along the great aisle. The fine
altar, consecrated to one Gonzago a Jesuit (styled Beatus only, as
not being yet canonized), is well worth seeing; the sculpture is
fine, and the pillars very rich, wreathed of verde antico; the
floor of that chapel paved with the richest stones, as verde antico,
jallo antico, &c. Here are likewise to be seen beautiful pillars of
jasper, with counter-pillars of alabaster. I have already spoken of
the church of Jesus, and the rich altar in it, I shall only observe
that as these two churches are dedicated to the two patrons of the
order, they seem to shew a greater respect to Ignatius Loyola than
to our blessed Saviour, — the church of the former being much the
greater and finer of the two; besides that in the church of Jesus
the glorious rich altar is dedicated to St. Ignatius.

In the forenoon we paid a visit to the Capitol, where we met
Dr. Chenion and Mn Hardy. Having surveyed the statue of
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Pius on horseback, which we had

52 2 journal of a

often seen before, we went up to the top of the convent belonging
to Ara Coeli, where we delighted ourselves for some time with the
prospect of Rome, the Campagna, and the Apennine. Amongst
other hills, 1 took particular notice of Soracte.

* Vides ut alta stet nive Candida [sic],
Soracte.' Hor.

It is a mountain towards the north-east, in shape something like
a sugar-loaf. Having puzzled one another with questions on the
buildings, and run over the seven hills, we visited the church
famous for its having an altar built in that very place where
Augustus offered incense Primogenito filio Dei, by the admonition
(say they) of the Sybil and a vision of the Blessed Virgin with the
infant Christ in her arms in a golden circle in the heavens, which
an old friar assured us Augustus saw in that same place, and as an
inscription round the altar testifies. From thence we went to see
some statues in the Capitol a third time. I remarked particularly
two graceful Muses antique on one of the staircases. After
that we paid a visit to the Tarpeian rock, which we all agreed
was high and steep enough to break either the late Bp. Burnet's or
any man else^s neck who should try the experiment by leaping
down^. In the afternoon we saw the Villa Pamphilia. It stands to
the west of the town, in a very delightful situation. The gardens
are neat, spacious, and kept in good order, adorned with statues,
fountains, &c. ; but the prospect, with the variety of risings and
vales, make the greatest part of the beauty. The house is small,
but of a very pretty gusto, well furnished with statues and re-
lievos (which last are set in the outside of the wall, as in the
Villa Borghese). It is a great inconvenience to the persons of
quality in Rome that they durst never lie in their villas for fear
of the bad air. They only come sometimes in the day to hunt,
or divert themselves in the gardens. I must not forget the church
of S. Pietro Montorio, where St. Peter was beheaded. In this
church we saw the Transfiguration, the last piece designed by
Raphael. From hence Rome is seen to the greatest advantage,
the fa9ades of the houses meeting the eye as they fall down the

^ This is an allusion to a remark in Bp. Rocli is now so small a fall, that a man

Burnet's ' Letters from Switzerland, Italy,' would think it no great matter, for his

&c. In that book, 2nd ed., p. 238, the diversion, to leap over it,' &c. H. J, R.
following passage occurs : — ' The Tarpeian

Toicr ill Italy. 523

seven hilJs towards the Tiber on the adverse side. This prospect
is truly noble, and I believe the noblest of any city in the world.

16.

This morning I spent at home. In the afternoon, Mr. Ashe,
Mr. Hardy, and I went to see the palace of the Barberini. It is,
I think, the noblest palace in Rome. The architecture is magni-
ficent. The situation on the Mons Quirinalis delightful. It hath
many noble chambers and salons, being of great extent, but with-
out a gallery. I much wonder this defect should be so common
in the Roman palaces, a gallery being a thing of less expense and
more beauty, as well as a fitter repository for pictures, than a suite
of rooms which serve to no use, their families being not propor-
tioned to their palaces. This palace consists of two apartments,
that of the Prince and that of the Cardinal Barberini, both ex-
tremely well furnished with pictures and statues, especially the
latter. In this palace I could not forbear remarking the picture of
a giostro or tournament given by Prince Barberini for the enter-
tainment of the Queen of Sweden ; it cost him above seventy
thousand crowns. The ridiculous part of it was to see a great
number of Roman princes and cavaliers marching in sumptuous
trappings and great order to attack a green dragon of pasteboard.
Amongst the fine pictures here is an incomparable Madeleine of
Guido Reni, reckoned the best piece that ever he did. The
Madonna and Holy Family of Perugino is the most valuable piece
of that painter that I have seen. His drapering every one knows
to of a little gout, and he knew nothing of the chiaro-oscuro.
But for sweetness, grace, and beauty there is enough in this piece
to render it admirable. I must not forget two excellent portraits,
the one of Clara Farnese by Gaetano, the other by Parmeginino :
it is one head of four in a group, that which looks directly at you.
It is perfect life. Here is likewise a most curious piece of art,
the bust of Urban the Eighth, done in terra cotta by a blind man,
and well done. The antique statue of Brutus holding the heads of
his two sons is formed upon a subject that should express the
greatest contrast of passion, and yet there is nothing of it. This
and another statue of Diogenes, both large and well preserved,
shew the ancients had indifferent statuaries as well as the moderns.
Th^ Diana and Adonis of Mazzuoli, a statuary now alive in

524 yournal of a

Rome, are both very fine, and I think equal to Bernini. They
shewed us a piece of ancient mosaic, of Europa and the Bull, &c.
It seemed nothing extraordinary. But the greatest curiosity in this
palace are some curious pieces in fresco, well preserved from the
time of old Rome, and dug up in Tivoli. They are seven or
eight in number, most chiaro-oscuro, or painting of two colours.
But there is one piece of a Venus and two Cupids incomparably
fresh and beautiful. It hath some resemblance to the manner of
Guido Reni. In this palace we saw a noted statue antique of a
countryman asleep. Nothing can be more soft and natural. There
is another of a slave eating the hand of a man, in which extreme
hunger is expressed with great art. Upon the staircase there is
the noblest antique lion in stone that I have anywhere seen.
We ended the day with a walk in the gardens of Montalto. They
are very spacious, being said to contain three miles in circuit :
cypress trees, espalier hedges, statues, and fountains make the
ornaments of this place, which, like the gardens in Italy, is not
kept with all that neatness that is observed in French and English
gardens.

17.

We went this morning with Mr. Hardy and Dr. Chenion to the
piazza of S. Maria Maggiore, where we saw the ceremony per-
formed of blessing the horses, mules, and asses. On this day
every year people of all ranks send or bring their cattle of that
kind to receive a blessing from the fathers of St. Anthony. We
saw a great number of fellows, with their horses dressed out
with ribbons, pressing forward to the blessing. This was dis-
tributed at an office in the corner of a street or turning by a
father in his cap and surplice, who threw holy water on all that
passed ; at the same the owner of the horse gave him a tes-
toon and a wax taper ; some country fellows who had not money
paid the priest in fruits, corn, or the like. This solemnity lasts
the whole day. From hence we went to Dioclesian's baths. The
eight entire pillars of granite, each one single stone, standing in
that part of the thermae which is converted into the Carthusians'
church, we found on measuring to be full fifteen foot round each
of them, and proportionably high. The porphyry bason, which lies
in the yard, is above six and forty foot round, of one piece. Not

Tour ill Italy. 525

far from this church there stands another entire round building
which was part of the thermic, and now makes a real church.
Having spent some time in viewing the paintings here and in an
adjacent church dedicated to St. Susannah, we took a walk in the
Carthusian cloisters, which are very beautiful, having been de-
signed by Michael Angelo. In the afternoon Mr. Ashe and 1
visited the Villa Medici, on the Monte Pintiano. The building is
handsome, designed by Julio Romano, but a present stripped of its
best furniture and neglected. We saw nevertheless some good
statues. A small Venus, excellent ; a large Cupid, antique and
good ; with several antique busts and statues, in the house. In
the gardens we took particular notice of a lion done by Flaminius
Vacca, of two vastly large granite vases, of a single piece each,
and of a group of about sixteen figures, Niobe and her children,
antique, well done, and dug up in the garden. From thence we
went to the cafe which was then kept on the piazza, and stood
facing S. Maria Maggiore, on account of blessing the horses.

18.

I saw the pope and cardinals at St. Peter's. There was fine
singing, much incensing, carrying about, dressing, and undressing
of the pope. His holiness was carried in a chair with two
screens or even-tails of feathers, one on each side, protecting him
from the air, though within the church. Cardinals officiated at
the high altar. A great baldachino, forming a sort of tabernacle,
was set up for his holiness between the high altar and the upper
end of the choir. This day was the feast of St. Peter's Chair.
The guards of light horse and cuirassiers were drawn up in the
piazza of St. Peter's, and there was a great number of cardinals
and prelates with fine coaches and rich liveries. The cardinals
had some three, some four or more coaches of their domestics.
Cardinal Aquaviva's liveries were particularly splendid. They
came out of church each under a canopy or umbrella to his coach.
In the afternoon we saw the lesser palace of Farnese with Mr.
Terwhit and Mr. Hardy. The gallery, whose ceiling is painted by
Raphael, is very well worth seeing. It contains the Supper of the
Gods at the marriage of Cupid and Psyche, and in another piece
the admission of Psyche to immortality in a council of the gods.
In the skirts of the platfond are painted other figures relating to

526 Jozirnal of a

the same design, particularly Venus begging Jove to make her
daughter-in-law immortal, which is excellently well expressed.

19.

This day we resolved to spend in viewing the antiquities upon
the Mount Esquiline. What we first saw was the Church Delia
Santa Croce in Gierusalemme. It was built by Constantine, and
hath fine pillars of granite on either side the great aisle, thought to
have been taken by him out of the temple dedicated to Venus and
Cupid hard by. We could not see the piece of the holy cross
which is preserved in this church, it being shewn only at certain
seasons, and then from an eminence or high pulpit appointed for
that purpose. From hence we went to see the ruins of the temple
of Venus and Cupid. It stands in the vineyard of the Olivetans,
but so defaced that we can make nothing of it. Not far from
hence we saw the remains of the Amphitheatrum Castrense, and
the conduits of the Aqua Claudia which brought the water from
Frescati. We clambered up the ruin to look into the pipe, which
is built of huge wrought stones. Upon the frieze over a gate in
the aquaduct I could read Caisar Augustus Germanicus. The next
ruin we saw was the Templum Minervae Medicae, as some will
have it ; according to others it was a basilica. But the shape
seems to refute the latter opinion. What remains is a decagonal
building, with part of the vault standing, and large niches all
round it. In the neighbouring church of St. Bibbiana we saw a
fine statue of that saint by Bernini, also the column where she
was whipped, and a vast urn of one piece of alabaster, wherein
her body lies under the altar. We met with an instance of be-
haviour in this church not to be matched in Italy. A poor boy
who gave some herbs that growing [in] the church are supposed
to have a healing virtue from the saint, refused to take money
from Mr. Hardy, who, having accepted his present, thought
himself obliged to force it on him. The next antiquity we
observed was the Castello de I'Aqua Martia, in which we were
told the trophies of Marius were hung up. It was of brick
a-piece, with something like a great niche in it, standing, but
nothing that could give us an idea of the fabric when entire.
From thence we passed through the arch of Gallienusj it was
plain, without those bas-reliefs and ornaments which are com-

Tour in Italy. 527

monly met with on the like arches. This was in our way to
S. Maria Maggiore, near which we observed a prodigious marble
pillar of great beauty, raised on a pedestal something like the
Monument in London. This pillar was found among the ruins
of the Temple of Peace in the Via Sacra. We passed through
the church, which is one of the four Basiliche, the other three
being St. Peter's, St. John de Lateran, and St. Paul's. We stopped
to survey the chapel of Paul the Fifth, which is most richly
adorned with marble incrustations, fine architecture, and statues.
I must not forget that as we were going to our antiquities this
morning, I observed by the way a church with an inscription
signifying that it was dedicated to the Holy Trinity and to
St. Charles the cardinal-archbishop of Milan. In the afternoon
we intended to visit what remained on the Mons Esquilinus, but
in the way saw the remains of the basilica of Nerva. The wall
is noble, of rustic work, like the palaces in Florence, vast stones
heaped one upon the other, with an irregular jutting out here and
there. It now makes part of a nunnery. The pillars that re-
main are of white marble fluted, very large. The next curiosity
we saw was an ancient temple of Minerva : some pillars and
entablatures are remaining, with relievos, and a statue of Minerva
in the wall. These near the Columna Trajana, in our way to the
Esquiline, where the first thing we saw was the church of
8. Pietro in Vincoli. We took but a transient view of a famous
tomb here, resolving to come another time. Hence we went to
the Thermae di Tito. The ruins above ground are pretty unin-
telligible. They are of brick, as the other thermae, but the
stucco, &c. one may see. They were encrusted anciently with
marble, as the other baths do likewise appear to have been. At
some distance under ground we saw eight large galleries or halls,
that were anciently reservoirs of water for the baths of Titus.
The walls are covered with plaster as hard as stone, and in many
places encrusted with a sort of tartar from the water. In our
return we saw a piece of antiquity which they will have to be a
remnant of the temple of Priapus : it is a small rotunda, with
light only through the dome ; in the wall withinside there is a large
conical stone, of which they can give no account. Hard by we
saw the remains of the circus of Sallustius, with the situation of
his gardens and palace.

528 yournal of a

20.
This forenoon we saw the Mausoleum of Augustus. What now
remains is a round wall, and some vaults which are supposed to
have been burying-places for his liberti. We saw some scattered
vases, statues, and bas-reliefs. This monument stands in the
north-west part of the town, between the Corso and the Strada di
Ripetta. After this we visited the castle of St. Angelo. Having
passed the guards and the outward lodge, we entered certain
passages and staircases hollowed out of the Moles Adriani, which
was a solid building, the lower part whereof still remains and
makes part of the castle. It is of a round figure, seeming of no
great strength, hath in it more room than one would imagine
from its outward appearance. We saw amongst other things a
salon painted by Perin del Vaga. His design is very graceful, and
like his master Raphael. We saw another large and fair salon,
painted by Perin and Julio Romano, with a good deal of chiaro-
oscuro by Polidore Caravagio. At the upper end of this hall was
painted the Angel, and opposite to him at the other end the
Emperor Adrian. We saw the two places, one where the archives,
and particularly the Donation of Constantine, is kept, the other
where the five millions of Sixtus Quintus are preserved. Both
these are shut up with iron doors. They shewed us two rooms
handsomely furnished, which they said was to be the pope's
apartment in case of necessity. In a like apartment, underneath,
Clement the Seventh was lodged when prisoner of Charles the
Fifth. When we saw the castle, that same apartment, we were
told, lodged a Spanish bishop who had been there about six
months by order of the Inquisition. He was the same I formerly
mistook to have been lodged in the prisons of the Inquisition.
Our guide told us he was never visited by any but the inquisitors,
nor allowed to go out of his apartment. He said he had often
seen him, that he is esteemed a man of great understanding, has
a bishopric of twelve or fourteen thousand crowns a year, and is
about fifty years of age. We saw an armoury which seemed no
great matter, the armour was divided and hung up by pieces that
looked rusty enough. The person who keeps it shewed us a col-
lection of arms which belonged to criminals executed for murder
or carrying concealed weapons. Amongst the rest the pistol that
dropped in St. Peter's or in the pope's chapel from the Prince of

Tony in Italy. 529

Parma, for which he was condemned to be beheaded by Sixtus
Quintus. Below in the court of the castle we saw a Greek arch-
bishop who had been fourteen years prisoner of the Inquisition
in this castle, and was lately acquitted. 1 must not forget the
statue of the angel with a sword in his hand on the top of the
castle, in the very spot where he appeared, as they say, to all the
people in the time of the plague in the reign of Gregory the Great.
From which event the castle takes its name. The bridge of
St. Angelo, which leads over the Tiber towards the castle, de-
serves notice, being nobly adorned on each side with statues,
ancient and modern. From hence we went to see the remains of
the Theatre of Marcellus. The Doric and Ionic orders in two
ranges are still to be seen j the Corinthian, and perhaps the
Composite, being destroyed. Hard by we saw the ruins of the
Portico of Octavia, as we were told, though in the inscription we
could see mention of Pertinax, but not any of her. As we re-
turned home by the Pillar of Antoninus we had the curiosity to
enter into it, and go part of the way up stairs. The staircase is
hollowed in the solid stones that, being of vast bigness, compose
the column. The reliefs with which the outside of the Pillar is
covered from top to bottom arc not reckoned altogether so deli-
cate as those on Trajan's Pillar. In the afternoon we saw the
remains of the Thermae Constantini, being only an old wall in
the gardens of the palace of Colonna. Not far from hence we
saw an ancient brick tower called Torre di Militia : it hath stood
since the time of Trajan, and at a distance seems very entire.
We could not come at it because it is hemmed up in a convent of
nuns. It is a pity so considerable a remain of antiquity should
be rendered inaccessible by that circumstance. It is not very
unlike a steeple, being of a square figure in the lower part ; and
the upper, which is a tower distinct from and lesser than the
under, out of which it proceeds, is a square with the angles
rounded. From hence we visited the Giardini d'Aldobrandino
(though now possessed by Prince Pamphilio): in them we saw a
vast number of ancient statues, the greatest part of which had
nothing extraordinary, many of them but indifferent; some re-
lievos on the outside of the house arc excellent. I remarked one
which I cannot but think represents the combat between Dares
and Entellus mentioned in Virgil. An old and a young man are

\'OL. IV. M m

530 yottrnal of a

fighting with such things as the poet describes the cestus's to be.
But the greatest curiosity in this house is the ancient picture in
fresco dug up in the Thermae of Titus. It contains ten figures,
representing the bride and bridegroom on the marriage night,
with maid-servants who seem to burn incense or to be employed
in preparing a bath. The bridegroom sits on a very low sort of
seat not unlike an oriental sofa. The bride sits, with a modest
downcast look, on the other side the bed, in conference with
another woman. The bed is without curtains, and like enough
to the modern beds one meets with now in Italy. There are
three stands, one of which hath a wide vessel in it, in the chamber
about which the women seem to be employed. The attitudes are
very well, the colouring seems never to have been good, and the
drapery but of an indifferent gout. I took the more notice of this
piece because it is almost the only one extant of antiquity, at
least the most entire, the rest being but fragments much defaced j
those shewn for ancient paintings in the palace Barberini being,
as I am since informed, done by Polidore Caravagio. This old
piece was found in the baths of Titus, where likewise were found
the Apollo and the Laocoon in the Vatican : as was the Farnesian
Hercules, and the group of the Bull and Zethus and Amphion, Sec.
in the baths of Caracalla. We ended the day with music at
St. Agnes in the Piazza Navona.

21.

This morning we went about two miles out of town towards
the north-east to see the church of St. Agnes without the City. It
being the day of St. Agnes's feast, we could not exactly see the
pillars or inside, they being hung with damask. Here we saw
some very bad reliefs representing our Saviour on the ass, &c.,
four columns of porphyry at the great altar, on which stood an
agate statue of the saint, and in the convent an excellent bust of
our blessed Saviour by Michael Angelo : it is incomparably fine.
Hard by we saw the remains of the Hippodromus of Constantine,
and the Mausoleum, as some will have it, of Constantia, as others,
the Temple of Bacchus. It is round and entire. A circular row
of double figures surround the altar, which stands in the middle of
the building. Under it lies the body of Constantia, which was
taken out of a vast urn of porphyry very entire, now standing in

Tour in Italy. 531

the church. It hath no inscription, and is on all sides adorned
with indifferent relievo representing winged boys squeezing
grapes, which gives some colour to the opinion of those who will
have this building to have been the Temple of Bacchus. In our
return we observed, what we had often seen before, the noble
Fountain of Aqua Felice, built and adorned with fine statues and
relievo by Sixtus Quintus. It hath three great openings, whence
the water gusheth forth abundantly. It stands next the Thcrmce
Dioclesianse, just by the church of the Madonna de Victoria,
which we entered, and spent some time in surveying the statues
and pictures of that beautiful little church, particularly the statue
of the angel aiming a dart at the heart of St. Teresa, wonderfully
well done by Bernini, and the Madonna co'l Bambino and other
figures, an excellent picture of Dominiquin's. In the afternoon
we went to see the remains of antiquity on the Mons Celius. It
lies on the south-east, between the Aventine and the Esquiline.
As we passed by the Coliseum we observed some ruins, said to be
the remains of the Domus Aurea Neronis, which being of vast
extent, reached to the Esquiline, and stood in great part on Monte
Celio as well as in the plain. We saw likewise in several places
the remains of a prodigious aqueduct, and a wall with several
arches consisting of vast stones, said to be the remains of the
Curia Hostilia, But the chief curiosity on Monte Celio is
the Temple of Faunus. It is an entire building, of great an-
tiquity, round, having two circular rows of Ionic pillars, with a
good space between them : the interstices between the outer
pillars are made up, which anciently, without doubt, lay open,
which makes it probable there was some external wall that com-
prehended both rows of pillars. These pillars are of an unequal
thickness, and the chapiters but ill wrought, though all the shafts
of single pieces of granite, which shews the building to have been
very ancient, before the flourishing of arts in Rome. The walls
on the inside are painted with martyrdoms, particularly with that
of St. Denys, who is represented, according to the legend, with
his head in his hands after it was cut off. St. John de Latcran
being on this mount, we made a second visit to that church,
which I take to be the noblest in Rome next to St. for the

inside, as S. Maria Maggiore is for the outside. What I had not
observed before were four noble Huted pillars of bronze-gilt in an

M m 2

532 yotirnal of a

altar of the church in one end of the same, which was built by
Constantine : there is a much mosaic and gilding on the roof,
very ancient, probably from Constantine's time. The cloisters
of this church are of that emperor's building, and well worth
seeing. One may see a great tendency in that age to the Gothic,
the pillars being small, and many of them wreathed oddly, and
adorned with inlaid stones in a very mean manner. But the
most valuable things are the sacred antiquities brought from Jeru-
salem : as the column — this, I think, was of porphyry — on which
the cock stood when he crowed and Peter denied Christ j another
pillar of white marble, that was rent in two on the suffering of
our blessed Saviour. Here is likewise a flat porphyry stone set in
the wall, on which, they tell you, the soldiers threw lots for our
Saviour's garment. I must not forget the famous porphyry chair,
which some will have to have been introduced upon the discovery
of Pope Joan, and from that time used at the coronation. This
notion, I must own, seems fabulous to me, to wave other reasons
obvious enough. There is another chair of white marble made in
the same shape, and another of porphyry, broken, now to be seen
in the same cloister. It is more probably conjectured that they
were used in baths for tlie conveniency of cleaning every part
with more ease. This night we were heartily tired at an Italian
tragedy of Caligula, where, amongst other decorums. Harlequin
(the chief actor) was very familiar with the Emperor himself.

22.
This day Mr. Ashe and I went about five miles out of town,
through the Porta Capena. The first antiquity we observed on
the road was the ruins of the Temple of Mars. Here we saw the
remains of a great quadrangular portico that goes round the
temple, whereof the substructions only now remain. A little
beyond this we saw the Sepulchre of Metella. It is a round
tower, 282 foot in circumference: the wall o^c^ foot thick,
within brick, without and in the middle stone : the outside is
covered with vast hewn pieces of the Petra Tiburtina, which re-
mains extremely fresh and entire, being in appearance as hard
and lasting as marble. This monument, in the civil wars of
Italy, was used as a fortress, and hath some addition of a different
work on the top j adjacent are the remains of old fortresses since

Tour ill Italy. 533

the civil wars of some centuries ago. On the outside towards the
road we read this inscription : c/ECILI^ Q. CRETICI F. METKLLyTi
CRASSI. It stands (as many of the ancient sepulchres did) on the
Appian Way, whereof we saw the remains in several places. On
the wayside we saw several decayed ruins of ancient sepulchres,
but which was Scipio Africanus's or which was Duillius's, &c., we
could not discover. We returned another way to Rome, and saw
the Circus of Caracalla, which is a noble remain of antiquity.
You see a good part of the wall and the metse still standing.
The wall plainly shews you the figure of the circus. It seems to
be near half a mile in length. At one end we saw the remains
of two towers where the racers used to prepare themselves, and
in the side the remains of a building higher than the wall, where
it is thought the Emperor and his Court viewed the sports. After
this we visited the grotto of the nymph Egeria, which stands
pretty entire from the time of Numa Pompilius. It is of stone,
and the vault remaining. In it we saw three fountains, and an
ancient statue of a woman lying, the head wanting, and maimed
in other parts. We saw likewise in this grotto some vastly large
stones — larger than tomb stones, and several ancient chapiters of
pillars, that seemed by their little delicacy to shew themselves of
the age of Numa. The next thing we saw in our return home
was the church of Quo vadis Domine ? It is built, they tell you,
on the very place where St. Peter met our Saviour as he was
flying from Rome to avoid the persecution. He asked our Saviour,
* Quo vadis Domine ?' To which He answered, ' Eo Romam iterum
crucifigi.'' Upon that St. Peter returned to Rome and suffered
martyrdom. In the church we were presented with prints of this
history : in which it is remarkable that St. Peter's church in his
lifetime is supposed to have made the left part of the view of
Rome. There is an old pavement runs through this church, which
they will have to be that part of the road on which St. Peter met
our Saviour. An inscription on the wall tells you that the very
stone on which our Lord stood, with the marks of His feet, is now
preserved at St. Sebastian's. I saw that at St. Sebastian's, and am
surprised at the stupidity of the forgery, that stone being of white
marble and the pavement in the church of common blue stone.

534 • yournal of a

23.
We spent all this day in our lodging.

24.
Having turned off our coach, in which we could not so con-
veniently observe the streets and palaces, we took after dinner a
walk to S. Pietro di Montorio : by the way we observed the
fa9ades of many noble buildings, particularly that of Monte Cito-
rio, where the courts of justice are kept — it is a most magni-
ficent fabric ; and that of the Farnesian palace, in which I
remarked that the Ionic pillars are placed above the Corinthian,
though it was built by M. Angelo. We looked into the church of
S. Carlo de Catenari. It hath a gilt cupola and some fine pic-
tures. We saw likewise the Mons Pietatis, where the charitable
bank for pawns is kept. The chapel belonging to this building is
small but very beautiful, of a round figure, lined with fine marble,
and adorned with excellent sculpture, particularly the statue of the
Madonna and a Dead Christ by Domenico Guidi, an admirable
piece. In the church of S. Pietro Montorio we took particular
notice of the famous Transfiguration, the last piece designed by
Raphael. Just by the church we saw a small round chapel of the
Doric order, built on the spot where St. Peter was beheaded, with
an inscription importing that it is declared by Paul the Third that
as often as any priest shall celebrate mass in that chapel he shall
set free one soul from purgatory. Having delighted ourselves
with the glorious prospect of Rome, which appears nowhere to
such advantage as on this hill, we returned, and in our way found
a Jesuit preaching in the open air in the Piazza Navona. We
listened awhile to him. He was a young man of brisk genius,
his motions lively, and his discourse rhetorical. The Jesuits send
their novices to learn to preach in the public places and corners
of the streets. We took the Dogana or Custom-house in our way
home. It was anciently the Curia Antonina. A range of Corin-
thian pillars with the entablature is now standing in the wall of
this building. These pillars are placed nearer one another than
I have observed any other antiques to be. In the palace of
Verospi we saw some antique statues. I had almost forgot the
Roman College. It is a vast and noble building, governed by the
Jesuits. In the court of it we saw a list of the books read and

Tour ill Italy. 535

I explained in the several schools. I observed the only Greek books
they read were Homer's Batrac[h]omyomachia and /Esop's Fables.

25-

This morning we spent at home. In the aftern')on we walked
through the city as far as the Ripa Grande. The most remark-
able piece of antiquity that we had not observed before was the
Ponte Senatorio, of which a good part is still remaining. We
visited several churches. That of the Madonna di Loretto, it is
a neat small round church, handsomely adorned. Over the great
altar we saw a picture of the Casa Santa carried by angels, and
the Madonna and Bambino sitting on the top of it. The church
of St. Cascilia, which was first built anno Domini 232, we saw
several fine paintings in it, particularly a fine Madonna col Bam-
bino by Guido Reni. Here is likewise a very rich altar, adorned
with lapis lazuli, agate, &c., and a prodigious number of silver
lamps, burning night and day. S. Maria dcUi Orti, a very beau-
tiful church, richly encrusted with marble of different kinds, and
embellished with painting and gilding. There is particularly a fine
Madonna by Taddeo Zuccre [Zuccaro]. In the church of S. Fran-
cisco de la Ripa we saw, amongst other considerable paintings, a
fine Dead Christ, &c. by Annibal Carache, and a beautiful statue
of the Cavalier Bernini's representing a noble Roman lady beati-
fied. In the Palazzo Matthie we saw several statues and some
very fine bas-reliefs. This night we went to see a play, with in-
terludes of music. The play broke off in the beginning upon the
principal actor's being run through the leg on the stage by accident.

Die 5*0 Maii, A.D. 1717, iter auspicati sumiis*.

Per 3 hor. et \ utrinque Isetissimus ager, vitcs ulmis frcqucnt-
issimis implicatae, interstitia frumento &c.^ repleta. Sylva scu
potius hortus videbatur perpetuus. Via cumulata pulverea ex
utrovis latere fossae, sepes rariores agro plerumque patentc, in
hoc tractu vici 2 vel 3 dein Ardessa urbs, dcinde vicus.

Per \ hor. prata et seges aperta.

Per I hor. campi latiores neque adeo arboribus impcditi ;
frumentum &c. ; ulmi insuper et vites, sed rariores; in hoc tractu
vicus insigni domo conspicuus.

Per \ hor. prata et linum a sinistris; frumentum et faba: &c.

* [Commencing from Naples.]

53^ journal of a

a dextris • campus ad Isevam apertissimus, a dextris nonnihil arbo-
ribus consitus j per totum iter montes a dextris sed remotiores.

Capua, animae 7000 j seminarium sub patrocinio Cardinalis
Caraccioli ; studentes 80 ; ex iis alumni 30 ; xysti ubi scholares,
lecti &c., prseses Collegii Urbanus. Vinum bonum ; bibliotheca
^ ad minimum librorum ad legem spectant.

Ecclesia Cathedralis in qua picturae mosaicae et 24 columnae ex
marmore granito. Urbs ista foris quam intus pulchrius exhibet
spectaculum.

A Capua nova ad antiquam iter continuatum est per \ hor. in
planitie ex utravis parte frumentum, cannabe, ulmi et vites, sed
rariores, tuguria seu domus rarae.

Porta Capuas veteris Amphitheatri reliquiae, in iis arcus foveis,
et ingressui inservientes ; saxa marmorea ingentis molis et lateres
adhuc quasi recentes, pars exigua muri extimi in qua visuntur
semi-columnae ordinis Dorici sine fregio j ulnae (3 pedes) 600 circa
orbem exteriorem.

5 milliaris abhinc visitur specus lateritius fenestris perforatis,
superne tecto cylindrico, constat xystis tribus in banc formam
H duo longiores pass. 135, brevior 117, jumenta 439 ibi stabulari
possunt, nimirum dum copiis inservit Romanis.

S. Maria di Capoa a Capua vetere ad Casertam iter patuit unius
horae. Campi utrinque largiores frumento et cannabe consiti,
ulmis et vitibus cincti juxta viam sepulchrum baud procul a specu,
passus 82 in circuitu, cavitates statuis recipiendis idoneae 14 ab
extra, murus duplex et inter muros ascensus, muri ex lapidibus
exiguis reticulatis sive ad normam adamantis sectis cum nervis
insuper lateritiis. Columnae in muro exteriore simplicissimae.
Aliae nonnullae reliquiae. Vici 2 vel 3 inter Capuam et Casertam.

Caserta, a small city consisting of little more than one large
square; palace of the prince out of repair; villa about \ a mile from
town, house therein much decayed; painted pavilions, marble
porticos, &c., shew it to have been fine; gardens large, out of
order ; walks through a large grove, fountains, grottoes, statues,
one good one of a shepherd playing on a pipe. These made 150
years agone, now in ruins, though the prince spends part of his
time here.

Tonr in Italy, 537

16.

Monastery of S. Maria del Angelo, pleasantly situate on the
side of a mountain, with a cypress grove behind it, ^ of a mile
from Caserta. This mountain anciently Tifata : place famous for
Hannibal's camp which was pitched there.

\ more St. Gracel, small village, little house on the point of a
lower mountain, Matalona^, open pleasant town, well-built, clean,
an hour from Caserta.

\ more through an alley set with trees to the Duke's villa j the
house Gothic but neat • grottoes, waterworks, statues, beans^ peas,
kitchen-stuffj tall trees, laurel hedges^ but not so trim as ours, the
whole in a natural noble taste beyond the French j a stream, from
the villa to the inn an hour.

Corn-fields surrounded with elms and vines, hemp, Indian corn,
lupins. From the villa onwards groves of apricots, some cherries
also and walnuts ; giuppi supporting vines ; apricots, 2 sometimes,
3 frequently, make '3^'^ ounces. Here we dined.

From the inn, plain between mountains, the plain fruitful,
thick set with vines and fruit-trees; after \ hour deep road,
suffering nothing to be seen; \ hour and the former scene re-
covered ; mountains on the right well covered with trees to the
top, and two or three houses ; mountains on the left fruitful only
at bottom ; hedge runs along the road ; deep or hollow road.

Arpse, a small town with old walls and towers, taken by some
for Furcae Caudinae. Asps ; roads paved with gravel. | hor., fields
open, corn and odd trees with vines, row of asps of great length ;
pleasant village on the side of a mount on the left. A small close
grew (of asps I think).

'3^^ pass through Monte Sarki, pleasant town towards the bottom
of a conical rock, on the point of which a castle; dance with
music of pipe and tambour. \ hor. more moun^ins on left
expired; trees thick, open country, wood on our right, vale
amidst rising hills ; well ; some coarse ground ; trees few, and
few of them with grapes; rivulet through the bottom of the glade;
whitish stony soil ; low vale on the right, rising ground on left ;
2 or 3 bridges over the rivulet ; shining flies ; moonlight ; bridge
over a small river ; Beneventum to at night. Principato Ulteriore

' [Maddaloni in Orgiazzi's map.]

538 yourual of a

ovcro provincia Ilirpinii con qualchc parte di Sanniti et Campani.
1 3 cities, bishoprics, except Ik'neventum and Conza, both arch-
bishoprics; good wines- nuts and chesnutsj many fishing waters j
woods full of game j cold and healthy.

17-

Bcnevcntum, situate on a rising ground, often suffers by earth-
quakes; first in 1688, when the greatest part was destroyed, i.e.
two-thirds. Since which several palaces were beautifully rebuilt.
The country round it hill and dale, various, open; inhabitants
esteemed 10,000; 12 sbirri and 12 soldiers of the Pope's in
garrison. Archbishop, Cardinal Ursini, his library chiefly law and
scholastic divinity; character good, the miracle of his being saved
in an earthquake by the intercession of St. Philippo Neri painted
in his cliapel. Handsome place, hall hung with arms of archbi-
shops; souls in his diocese 91,985, secular clergy 1405. The statue
of the Bubakis, that of the lion, ugly, [?] on a pillar near the castle ;
the Porta Aurea, with the respective inscriptions; divers statues
and pieces of statues of lions, those probably the arms of Bene-
vcntum. Streets paved with marble, many fragments of antiquity
in the walls of houses, friezes, architraves, &c. broken. Amphi-
theatre, the ruins of it consisting of prodigious stones and brick-
work, like those of Rome and Capua, though not near so much
remaining. Cathedral clean and in good repair; granite pillars
ten, built supposedly on the foundation of an old temple, several
fragments of the like pillars lying in the streets; this city refuge
for banditti, ill-looking folks; our landlord murdered (I think) 7.
Some ruins of temples at some distance in the environs of the
town. Papal territory 2 miles one side, 3 on the other; city poor
and mean. Bencventum came into the hands of the Pope in the
eleventh century. Said to have been built by Diomedes, king of
i^tolia. ^

Set out from Beneventum at 5 hours English in the evening.
(Jentle hills and vales, pleasant, various, fruitful, like England;
vines round poles on left; corn pasture for oxen, a few. 5 h.-f4om.,
olives on the right, open roads. 6 h., asps with vines round them
on right. 6h.-f-8 m., hedge-rows, wild roses in the hedges, fruitful
hills all the way in view on our right. Eew oxen, 2 or 3 sheep,
fern and bushes, lakes and pleasant hedges; several beautiful

Tour in Italy. 539

hedges with red, yellow, and blue flowers, the deep red flower
remarkably beautiful and predominant- trees with vines. Terra
Nuova, a pleasant village on the hills on right j vineyards left,
corn right j few sheep, asses, and oxen. 7 h.-fiom., palace (jf the
Marchese Santo Georgio- trees and vines thick right and left.
Monte Fusco and Monte Mileto, pleasant towns on points of hills
on right j trees, vines, and corn right and left j open roads, trees
and vines thick, delicious scene as various and better planted than
round Beneventum. 7 h. 4- ^, painted meadows ; 2 towns on the
sides of hills on our right j vineyards left, corn right; lupins; de-
lightful opening of great extent; shrubs; open region continued,
like Ireland ; river Galore ; stony road along the side of it ; bridge,
on the other side of which at a small distance a single-house seen.

18.

Set out at Ave in the morning from Ponte Galore; country open,
wavy, various, less fruitful than the day before, but thinly in-
habited; procession out of a small town (I think La Grotta), to
implore rain ; 2 confraternities, crosses, standards, girls crowned
with leaves some, and some with thorns, all barefoot but the priests
and friars.

Short chasm.

Shrubs on right, pasture left, vines round reeds on the sides of
the hills in our first ascent to the city. Grottoes in the side of the
rock inhabited, several one above another. Ariano, poor city on
a hill. The environs hilly; bare open ground; alphabet over the
bishop's gate; Spina Santa carried in piocession, crosses on men's
shoulders, men and women after the clergy of all orders. Bread
good, water bad, which probably made some think it the Equus
Tuticus of Horace, which opinion confuted by Gluverius, or rather
the town 'quod versu dicere non est,' for it is not doubted to be
the Equus Tuticus built by Diomedes. Having dined and walked
round the town, set out from Ariano at 3 h 4- 1 : vines opening
scene, and grove on right, some corn, some pasture, indifferent soil
and a few sheep ; hills all round and those naked ; a great hollow
glade on the left, another on the right. A wide plain before like
a theatre, and a semicircle of hills facing us. This plain mostly
pasture, two flocks of black sheep on it, no trees, bridge over a
small stream ; valley after the plain, bridge over the fontanc, all
mountains, Savigni right, Grieci left. 5 h. + 53 m., shrubs right and

540 yoiirnal of a

left, wood on the hills, stony road, pleasant vale, oaks, &c. ; lata
esculeta; long stony road through a forest, fountain seeming
ancient with wall of great stones. Still forest, moonlight, light-
nings without thunder j lo a clock arrive at a large waste inn
(i. e. little inhabited for the size, having the country palace of
some nobleman), called Ponte Bovino.

19.
Set out at six j bridge over Cervaro, bridge without water, as
two or three yesterday ; hills. Troja, a city on left on a rising
ground; coarse ground, wood. 6 h. + 50 m., large plain; black sandy
soil between naked hills; corn, a little shrub, much the greater
part poor pasture. io|, Ardona*', anciently Ardonea, now only an
inn. At 2\ set out from Ardona; the same vast plain, parched,
poor, hardly any corn or houses to be seen ; mountains at a great
distance, sometimes on right, sometimes on left, sometimes on
both ; a tree here and there, a wood, some groves at a distance on
left; granary of the Jesuits; 30 carts; corn throughout Apulia
burnt up this year. 5 h., the sea appears on left. 6 h. -f- ^, we come
to La Cerignola, a village well enough built ; in it 4 convents
and the palace of a prince ; passed the Aufidus at 9 + 2 over an
old bridge ; came to Canusium, now Canosa, at 10 + i. [N.B. On
passing the Aufidus the ground grew unequal. After much wander-
ing in the dark and clambering in our chaises over places out of
the way we arrived at Canosa. M.]

20.
In Canusium old bad statue, castle; poor town on a low hill;
land round it looked poor, great part plain, the rest gentle risings ;
no trees; monument of Boemund very magnificent for that age,
being the Greek architecture of the Secolo basso. Catacombs,
therein niches, in some whereof six or seven hollows like troughs
for dead bodies, all out of soft rock ; grottoes, old temple with four
porches, afterwards had been turned to a church; Roman ruins
mistaken for those of a monastery, huge brick walls and fragments
of pillars shew antiquity; old gate, brick, with the arch entire;
ruins full of odd insects, lizards, serpents, tarantulas, scorpions,
&c., the earth full of holes for them ; some old pieces of wall, but
nothing entire seen at a distance. N.B. At Canosa I saw the

« [Ordona, Org?\

Tour in Italy. 541

fellow reading a book that he knew not a word of out of devotion.
From Canusium to Cannx, about six miles by the side of the
Aufidus • this a river that would be thought small in England, with
deep banks. Cannar, its few ruins on a small hill, being fragments
of white marble pillars, bits of walls, wrought stones, &c., nothing
great. Field of battle must have been the plain between Cannae
and Canosa, on the bank of the Aufidus; on the other side the
plain a gentle rising ground ; land between Cannx and Barletta
planted with corn on the side next the sea : the Spur of Italy in
view.

Barletta, in a plain by the sea-side; bishoprick; inhabitants last
year 11,500 (so the Prior of the Theatines assured us); wide, fair,
well-built streets, all hewn stone, diamond-cut, rustic ; cathedral
poor ; Colossus, in bronze, in the principal street of the town of
Heraclius. In the Jesuits' church this epitaph : '■ Hectoris a Marra
fratris memoriae, aeternitati, a mari marmor aes aureum Antonius a
Marra posuit.' 2 convents, 5 nunneries, Theatines 8, Jesuits 10.
Antonius a Marra's altar in the Jesuits' cost 1 8,000 ducats, besides
other benefactions given and expected ; he the only benefactor.
Theatines' poor library; their Prior, or properly their Padre Vicario's
cabinet of pasteboard fruit shewed by him as a great curiosity; the
Piemontese father who talk of play and the court with gusto, &c.
N.B. At Barletta the inn was only for mules or horses ; we found
nevertheless a camera locanda in a private house, with good beds,
&c., but we bought our own provisions.

N.B. The P. Vicario tells us of the tarantula, he cured several
with the tongue of the serpente impetrito found in Malta, and
steeped in wine and drunk after the ninth or last dance, there
being 3 dances a day for three days; on the death of the tarantula
the malady ceases; it is communicated by eating fruit bit by a
tarantula. He thinks it not a fiction, having cured among others
a Capucin, whom he could not think would feign for the sake of
dancing. The patients affect different coloured hangings. Thus
far the father. N.D. The peasant at Canosa told us his way of
catching the tarantula, which takes the end of a straw wet with
spittle and thrust into the hole in his mouth on the man's
whistling, and suffers himself to be drawn out. One peasant at
Canosa was afraid of them, while his companion laughed and said
he had taken them without harm in his hands.

542 ' yoiirnal of a

21.

Left Barlctta at 6 in the morning, along the sea-side • corn, a
few vineyards, and enclosures on each side the road, some stony
and open, uncultivated, after that open with low shrubs. 7I,
enclosures, corn, vines, figs on right and left. N.B. Square low
towers begun to be observed this morning at certain distances
along the coast, being spy-towers against the Turks. 7.38', close
by the sea on left ; vines, figs, and other fruit-trees all the way to
Tranij strike off from the sea a little in the road to Trani, just
before we enter the city. This city, as Barletta, paved and built
almost entirely of white marble ; noble cathedral, Gothic, of white
marble, in the nave two double rows of columns made out of the
fragments of old pillars, granite, &c. j pieces of pillars lying in the
streets j port stopped or choked j piracies of the Turks make it
unsafe travelling by night; inhabitants 7,000; convents 5 or 6
archbishop ; poor library of the left convent, viz. the Dominicans
a thousand crowns per annum make the revenue of that convent
6, 8, or 10 go to a convent in these towns. N.B. The muscatell
of Trani excellent. [N.B. Ports of Trani and Brindisi choaked
by the Spaniards to suppress commerce. M.]

From Trani in something above an hour we reached Biseglia ;
road lay through vines, pomegranates, olives, figs, almonds, ^c.^
and enclosures, part hedge, part loose stone walls. Biseglia is a
city on the coast, beautiful, well-built ; the lower part white
marble, of the town, walls, and houses, the rest hewn stone; without
the town-wall a fosse. N.B. Walls likewise and bastions round
the two last towns, but nothing of considerable strength observed
by us. Biseglia, as divers other cities in Apulia, suffered much in
an earthquake 15 years before, of which several signs remaining in
palaces repaired, cracks in the walls, &c. Handsome palaces of
the Durazzi, Flori, and other nobles; the taste noble and unaffected,
were it not for the diamond cut in some fagades; 1500 families, or
as others reckon 8 or 9,000 souls ; commerce of this and the two
foregoing towns, corn, oil, almonds, &c. ; small, insecure, pitiful
port for Tartan boats, &c.; convents 5, nunneries 2 ; a bishoprick.
The environs full of villas and charming gardens; no inn in this
town, an auberge for horses only without the walls. From Biseglia
to Molfetta 5 miles, the road very stony, loose stone walls on both
sides; the same fruits and corn, but olives in greatest quantity; the

Toitr in Italy. 543

square towers still along the coast, the sea a field's breadth distant
on the left ; the last mile we coasted close j little or no strand j no
mountain all this day in sight. Morfeta, a small walled city,
walls^ towers, buildings of white marble; noble convent of Domi-
nicans, with a church of very handsome architecture, and another
with a beautiful facade adorned with statues. From Morfeta to
Giovanasso 3 miles by the sea-side, close ; the country on the right
well planted with fruit-trees and corn as before; the road very
rugged with stones^ no hedges in view, but macerise or stone walls;
within half-a-mile of Giovanasso a quarry of white marble, the
shore all the way rugged with rocks of white marble; sea rough.
I Giovanasso walled with towers, &:c., all squared stones of a yellow-
ish rather than of white marble ; town but mean within, streets
narrow, poor look, said to contain about 4,000 souls. They seem
to exceed in the numbers of this town and Biseglia. From Giova-
nasso 3 miles by the sea, road exceeding rough, country as before.
Then we struck off from the sea a little through a plain, partly
corn, partly shrub, green and various, the land on the right con-
tinuing as before ; little white square houses in the vineyards all
along this day's journey, since we left Trani. Turks taking off"
whole families together. Round and pyramidal heaps of stones in
the fields, vines and corn on right and left, fruit-trees at some
distance on right; deep sand and bad road before we entered Bari.
Delicious vineyards, gardens, &c., powdered with little white
houses about Bari.

22.

Castle of Bari. Bari hath inhabitants 18,000; moles old and new,
port shallow, not admitting ships of any burden; square towers at
every half mile, the watchmen advertise each other by smoke from
them, this round the coasts of the kingdom; convents of Fran-
ciscans and Augustines. In the former a father played on the
organ, which he said was the curiosity most visited next to
St. Nicolo, and it was indeed very fine; visited likev/isc other
convents, Capucins and Minims, out of town, pleasantly situated,
cool cloisters, orange and lemon little groves in them, fine views,
delicious living. Jesuits in the city, one of them upon our demand-
ing to see their library, asked whether we had confessed, and sent
us first to see St. Nicolo. The adventure succeeding, the fountain

544 yotirnai of a

sanctified by the bone of that saint lying in a marble case on the
brink of it, but commonly thought to flow from the bone ; Head of
the Franciscans, with great devotion, showed us the nail that
nailed the knocker of the door which the angel struck to tell the
mother of St. Francis that she should not be delivered till she came
down to the stable, after the manner of the Blessed Virgin. Bari
hath not above 9 noble families, merchants ; streets narrow and
dirty, buildings not beautiful. In the evening of this day we took
a walk out of the town and searched for tarantuli ; they showed
us certain spiders with red bodies for them, or certain reddish
spiders: the environs extremely pleasant. N.B. Inhabitants of
Terra di Bari reckoned somewhat stupid. N.B. We employed
peasants at Canosa, &c., to find us tarantuli, but in vain, because
the hottest season not then come. Returning we met a French
officer, who invited us to dine, and called on us next day, which
we spent here hearing of Tarantati danced

23.

The French officer, with the Abbate Fanelli and another Abbate,
all concur in the belief of the tarantula, and that peremptorily,
ladies of quality as well as mean folks bitten, v. g. a cousin of the
Abbate Fanelli and the wife to the Ricevitore di Malta. Nothing
given to the tarantati, th^y paying the music themselves. The
number of the days of dancing not limited to three • different in-
struments of music for different patients ; they see the tarantula
in the looking-glass, which directs their motions. The officer saw
30 tarantati dance together at Foggi. Tarantula likewise found,
say they, in the Campagna di Roma. Don Alessio Dolone told
me the tarantati affected those colours that were in the tarantula,
that he knew an old woman turned of 60, servant in a nunnery,
that danced, &c. He would not believe it at first, but was then
convinced. As to the time of dancing, he and another gentleman
said it was not to a day the anniversary of their being bitten, but
it may be some days sooner or later; no bite discoverable in the
patient. The tarantato that we saw dancing in a circle paced round

^ On the opposite pages of the Diary Dissertalio de Analome, morsu et effectibus
Berkeley has here copied a very long passage Tarantula.
from the dissertation of Baglini, entitled

To2ir in Italy. 545

the room, and sometimes in a right line to and from the glass •
staring now and then in the glass, taking a naked sword, some-
times by the hilt and dancing in a circle, the point to the specta-
tors, and often very near particularly to myself, who sate near the
glass, sometimes by the point, sometimes with the point stuck in
his side, but not hurting him j sometimes dancing before the musi-
cians and making odd flourishes with the sword, all which seemed
too regularly and discreetly managed for a madman ; his cheeks
hollow and eyes somewhat ghastly, the look of a feverish person ^
took notice of us strangers j red and blue silks hung on cords round
the room, looking-glass on a table at one end of the room, drawn
sword lay by it (which he regularly laid down after using it), pots
of greens adorned with ribbons of various colours ; danced about
half an hour the time or bout we saw him, had danced before
crowd of spectators, who danced many of them, and probably
4 hours, and between whiles was to continue dancing till night;
paid the music; we gave money to the music; the man bow[ed] to
us as he came in ; my danger from the sword ; he did not seem to
regard the colours. Tarantata likewise seen, daughter to a man of
note and substance in the city ; chamber or large hall adorned as
the other, bating the sword and looking-glass ; danced or pace ;
round in a circle, a man bearing a green bough decked with rib-
bons of gay colours; she seemed not to mind the bough, colours, or
company, looked fixed and melancholy ; relations and friends sate
round the hall; none danced but the tarantata. Her father certainly
persuaded that she had her disorder from the tarantula: his ac-
count that she had been ill 4 years, pined away, and no medi-
cines could do good, till one night, upon her hearing the tune of the
Tarantula played in the street, she jumped out of bed and danced;
from that time, he told us, he knew her disorder. He assured us
that for 3 months before we saw her she had taken no nourish-
ment except some small trifle which she almost constantly threw
up again, and that the next day he expected (according to what he
had found before) that she would be able to eat and digest well,
which was, he thought, owing to her dancing at that time of the
year. That this very morning she looked like death, no mark
of a bite on her, no knowledge when or how she came X.o be
bitten. Girl seemed about 15 or 16, and ruddy look while we
saw her.

VOL. IV. N n

54^ yournal of a

24.
Set out from Bari at 7 in the morning, the sea a quarter of
a mile distant on left (the road stony, land likewise, loose stone
walls for hedges) • corn, vines, fruit trees as before, with extremely
delightful small white houses. N. B. The gentry of Bari dare not
lie during the summer in their villas, for fear of the Turks.
8 a clock we had an enlarged view delivered from the stone en-
closures on the roadside j houses now few or none. 8^, rugged
ascent, rocky unequal ground ; land now wavy a little, hitherto
from Barletta a plain ; great stones and shrubs on the right j in a
word, a large open tract since the rugged ascent, with little corn and
much shrub. 9 + 25', close by the sea j rocky, unequal, great stones,
shrubs and pasture among them, a few oxen, corn on right, not a
house in view though the country quite open, not a tree but
shrubs. 10, the country again fertile, corns, vines and fruit-trees
in abundance. N. B. Vines in Apulia unsupported j world of fig-
trees on right, corn on left, and open to the sea. 10 + 1, along
the shore, no strand but flat rock; corn reaped and standing in
sheaves. Strike off a little from the sea; fig-trees very large, mul-
berries several, stone walls, next the sea few or no trees in the
corn ; the right well planted, few or no houses (I suppose) for fear
of the Turks, which obligeth families to live in towns ; figs predo-
minant, though all the same trees as about Bari. Mola, small city
walled round a castle ; old cathedral, suburb bigger than the city
within the walls ; no place in the town to dress or eat our victuals
in ; a merchant of the town gave us the use of an apartment to eat
our own meat in, as likewise a present of cherries. Mola hath a
great and considerable trade ; 5,000 souls in Mola ; strange to see
beggars live in houses of hewn stone ; 3 or 4 handsome cupolas.
I ■\- 40', left Mola ; well planted fruitful country as before. 3, a
stony, rocky, shrubby tract. 2|, wood of large olive-trees, little
corn, a large white monastery on the left in the forest of olives.

3 h. 40 m., got out of the olive-forest ; craggy ascent, rocky way
close by the sea, loose stone wall on the right and rocks, shrubs,
olive-trees. Pulignano in view ; bridge over a valley or narrow
glen among rocks ; unequal rocky ground ; another bridge over a
chasm or glen. The town Pulignano small, inconsiderable, walls
and towers of hewn stone ; passed by it, leaving it on the left at

4 + 20; rocky barren sea-coast, but on the right fruit trees, corn.

Toiw in Italy. 547

vines, almonds predominant • locust trees here, and between
whiles ever since Barletta, 4 + 40, enter a grove of olives, some
I pears, &c. intermixed; soil twixt red and yellow, stony. 5 + 50,
corn reaped, the olive plantation divided into squares by loose
stone walls, serving only to clear the soil of stones. (>-\-S-> ^"^ ^^
the olive grove ox forest. This afternoon we had a ridge of low
hills parallel to our road, a mile off on right, covered with trees
for the most part. 6 + 1, Monopoli, walled, 8,000 inhabitants;
6,000 died of the plague twenty-two years agone : steeple having
all the orders ; palace on the right new and of a good gout, were
not the Doric pilasters ill proportioned; cathedral, piazza indiffer-
ent, convents nine, nunneries four ; trade in oil and almonds.
Governor, a nobleman of Naples, Don Tito Reco, offered his
house ; being refused, recommended us to the Franciscan convent
without the walls ; he walked us round the town ; the friars' treat-
ment of us ; the Definitore's [?] conversation ; their retiring tower
and ladder, their guns, preparations, watch against the Turk.

25-
Left the convent at 6 + 30 ; stony road, stone walls, corn, open.
7, even road, red soil, corn, olives. 7 + 20, forest of olives; lose our
way in this forest®. 10 + 5, out of the olive forest into a corn field ;
pasture ; the sea about a mile distant ; much wild thyme ; pasture,
olives, corn, shrub, stones, thyme. 10 + i, the same olive forest
again. 11 + i, shrubs, corn-fields, pasture. 12 + ^, serpents,
copse or thicket, pasture, trees, olives, unequal craggy ground.
I 4- 10, forest of olives; dined under an olive-tree. 3 + 4, out of
the forest into a thicket, wild thyme among the shrubs in abund-
ance ; corn, thicket of shrubs again ; a few cows and oxen here, as
through the whole kingdom, whitish ; olive-trees and shrubs mixed,
fields of pasture and corn among the shrubs. 7, the hills on our
right all this day and half of yesterday end ; open country, with
shrubs, &c. ; hollow stony road about a mile before Brundisium,
where we arrived at 9 + i- Country round Brundisi well planted
with corn and vines, but open, having few trees, and those fruit-
trees. Appian Way near the town, which is ill built, straggling,
poor.

' Liquefaction formerly at Gnatia [Egna- exceeding dry all this morning.
sia Or^.] as now at Naples. This left on ' Iratis Gnatia lymphis.'

our left hand for fear of the Turks, which [Hor. I. Sat. 5. See Cramer's Italy, vol. II.

also caused the loss of the road : country p. 299, for further references.]

N n a

548 Journal of a

26.

Two pillars of white marble, the one entire, Corinthian and
urn on the top, the other only pedestal and piece of the top, which
fell and remained on the pedestal a. d. 1528, without any storm
or earthquake, the intermediate parts falling out • this looked on
as a presage of the ruin of the city, which ensued in the war
between the League and Charles V. The two pillars the ancient
arms of Brundisium, as having been built by the son of Heracles,
who erected two pillars at the Straits, The two pillars had figures
of puttini, &:c. above the foliage ^.

N. B. The following inscription on one of the pedestals : —
^ ILLVSTRISPIVSACTIB — ATO : REFVLG
PTOSPATHALVPVSVRBEMHANCSTRVXITADIM —
QVAMlMPERATORESMAGNIFICIQ:BENIG desunt reliquae.

Several fragments of ancient pillars about the town, churches
nothing extraordinary; Capucins, fratres minores conventuales
inter quos Monsignor Griego; walk round the walls, of the old ones
some ancient ruins ; a bishopric. I judge this, in proportion to the
other towns, to contain about 4,000 or 5,000 souls ; as to the port
and town, it is, as Strabo saith, a stag's head and antlers. We

' Brundisium. N. B. Orange gardens in last in our return. Taranto and Brindisi,

groves in the suburbs where we entered with all the towns below them, are in the

Brundisium. Bad air from choaking the province, which was formerly Messapia

port, and few inhabitants. Giro of the old Salentina or Calabria. Air in all parts good,

city 7 rniles, whereof remains now much especially about Lecce : produce corn, wine,

less, with vacant streets and piazzas. and oil in plenty ; also sheep and strong

Fidelitas Brundusina the motto to their mules in plenty, which last are much

arms, i. e. the pillars. Two forts, the esteemed : minerals also, as saltpetre, bolo

newest built by Philip, the second built on Armeno, Terra Lemnia, and excellent salt for

a tongue of land 2 miles from the town, whiteness at Taranto. 3 abps. and 10 bps.;

reckoned the strongest in the kingdom. the fomier Brindisi, Otranto, and Taranto.

ABP. Among reliques in the dome Strabo (lib. 6) describes the town and

the tongue of St. Jerome and 12 heads of ports as a stag's head and antlers, and as

the 1 100 virgins attending or accompany- more convenient even than that of Tarentum,

ing St. Ursula. The magistrates (i. e. syn- which bad inter qucedam vadosa. No vada

die, maestro-giurato, treasurer, &c.) by a there, but many in Brundisium. This the

child drawing balls of divers colours at common passage into Greece, the opposite

hazard in the town-house in the presence city of Illyricum, Dyrrachium, receiving on

of the governor and judge every day of the the other side.
Vergine assunta. ' Hanc latus Augustum,' &c.

The island below the port of Brundu- Lucan I. 5.

sium mentioned by Caesar, Bell. Civ. lib. 3 ; ' Gravis auctumnus in Apulia circumque

first Libo and after that another of Pom- Brundisium ex saluberrimis Galliae et Hispa-

pey's admirals having possessed themselves niaeque regionibus omnem exercitum vale-

of it to blockade the part of Caesar's army tudine tentaverat,' Caesar (Bell. Civ. lib. 3),

which remained in Brundusium. speaking of his army when he followed

Brundisium the first town we come to Pompey.
in Terra d'Otranto, and Castelnetta the

Toiw in Italy 549

walked round the town and found some pieces of the walls of the
ancient town, which was much bigger than the modern. As to the
port, N. B. Five islands and the island with the castle or
fortress, then a port or bay, and within that another port or bay,
then the stag's front, then the horns on either side embracing;
a bishopric. N.B. An English seaman here demands our charity;
his working and earning twelve pence a day, his boxing with the
townsfolks, his pretending to go to Naples, his shipwreck and
companions going through the country^". Left Brindisi at 4 + 6;
a bridge over a narrow sinus of the sea (i. e. one of the horns),
olives and corn, vines, corn, and fig-trees, pasture and yellow
flowers, corn, beans, oats, low shrub left, pasture right, coarse
pasture ; all this land open, sandy barren soil, here and there corn,
low shrubs but no trees, a large extended plain, wild artichokes,
long shrub, corn, shrub, corn. 7 + tj olive grove or forest, the
trees of this and the other olive forests large and of great age;
corn on left and vines on right, more little farm houses or villas
than usual, figs, pere muscanellae, vines ; a village ; Indian aloes
common here and elsewhere; vines right, corn left, olive grove,
corn, open country, spacious corn field right, olive plantation
left ; ample stubble right and left ; olive grove, vines, figs, pears,
apples, &c. left; vineyard right and left; wine presses, olive grove.
84-^, seeming all the way olive grove and large vineyards and
corn intermixed. Long tract of open country, corn, pasture, fruit-
trees. Leave at midnight ; obliged to wait some time for the open-
ing of the gates.

27.
Function on Corpus Christi day in Lecce ; standards, images,
streamers, host, rich habits of priests, ecclesiastics of all sorts,
confraternities, militia, guns, squibs, crackers, new clothes.
Piazza, in it an ancient Corinthian pillar sustaining the bronze
statue of St. Orontius ; protexi et protegam ; marble statue on
horseback of Charles the Fifth, another on horseback of a King
of Spain on the top of a fountain adorned with many bad statues ;
Jesuits' college most magnificent; fine buildings of hewn stone,
ornamented windows, pilasters, &c. ; large streets, divers piazzas,

*» At Naples informed of the villany of him and his comrades in murdering some
Mahometan passengers.

550 yournal of a

fa9ades of churches, &c. j inhabitants 16,000 ; eight miles from the
sea ; oil only commodity j convents fourteen, nunneries sixteen ;
streets open, pleasant, but crooked ^ several open places ; situate in
a most spacious plain j gusto in the meanest houses ; nowhere so
common ornamented doors and windows ; balconies, pillars, balus-
trades, all of stone, the stone easily wrought ; incredible profusion
of ornaments in the fa9ades of churches, convents, &c., pillars or
pilasters (mostly Composite or Corinthian), festoons, flowerpots,
puttini, and other animals crowded in the chapiters above the
foliages, double friezes filled with relievo, i. e. beside the common
frieze another between the chapiters. Took particular notice of
the Jesuits' church, that of the Dominicans, nunnery of St. Teresa,
convent of the Benedictines, of the Carmelites,* nunnery of
St. Chiara. These and many more deserved attention • most of
them crowded with ornaments, in themselves neat but injudi-
ciously huddled together. The fa9ades of the church and convent of
the Jesuits noble and unaffected, the air and appearance wonder-
fully grand ; two rows of pilasters, first Composite, second or upper
Ionic, with mezzoninos above the second row of windows; win-
dows in front twenty-six, and two between each pair of pilasters
in front ; orange-trees in the squares within the cloisters, long
corridors before the chambers, which had each a door of stone
ornamented like that of a palace. Some Greek MSS., as of Lyco-
phron, Stephanus de Urbibus, and Homer in their library, but
those dispersed, and no index that I could see. Twenty-five win-
dows in front beside the church. Fayade of the Benedictines'
convent and church wonderfully crowded with ornaments, as
likewise the altars generally adorned with twisted pillars flourished
all over, and loaden with little puttini, birds, and the like in
clusters on the chapiters and between the wreaths along the fusts
of the columns. Nothing in my travels more amazing than the
infinite profusion of alto-relievo, and that so well done : there
is not surely the like rich architecture in the world. The square
of the Benedictines is the finest I ever saw ; the cloisters have
a flat roof and balustrade supported by double beautiful pillars
with rich capitals, a fountain also and statues in the middle ; the
corridors above stairs are long, lofty, and wide in proportion ;
prospect into the town and country very pleasant ; each chamber
of the fathers hath a noble balcony of stone, Corinthian and

Tour in Italy. 551

Composite pilasters in front; the vast number of locusts; in the
piazza the pillar from Brundisium supporting a statue in bronze
of St. Orontius, Cathedral handsome, much gilding and indifferent
painting, modern architecture, noble steeples ; hospital rustic at
bottom, double pilasters, Doric below, Ionic above, simple ; semi-
nary near the cathedral, rich fa9ade, plain, neat, handsome square
within ; bishop's palace, fine ascent by double stairs and balus-
trades, open arched portico. Fa9ade of the Jesuits' church orna-
mented but not redundantly, as noble as I remember any where to
have seen, very fine; as likewise that of the Nosocomium. St. Spi-
ritus very neat and unembarrassed, in which Corinthian pilasters
with festoons between. Houses generally but two stories, but noble
air and well proportioned in height to the breadth of the streets ;
several fine gates nobly adorned; interdetto ; people civil and
polite, and, so far as we had dealings, honest and reasonable ;
variety in the supporters of their balustrades; bold flights of archi-
tecture, as in the fayade of the church of St. Mattca, a nunnery;
garlands and coronets often round their pillars and pilasters.
Church of the Carmelites very good, especially within ; now build-
ing out of their own stock, which is only 2000 ducats per annum,
and to maintain twenty-six persons; in the front a little diamond
work, which they are sometimes guilty of. Dominicans, a Greek
cross; Carmelites, whimsical unequal figure; others oval, &:c. ; no
remains of antiquity. Lecce seems as large as Florence in extent,
but houses lower ; not a spout or supporter to the balustrade or
balcony, but wrought in the grotesque figure of some animal, or
otherwise carved; horses, men, griffins, bears, &c. supporting the
balcony of the Benedictines' church, with a round window some-
what Gothic ; stone handsome and well coloured. In no part
of Italy such a general gusto of architecture. Environs well in-
habited; gates Corinthian and Composite; Jesuits' convent vast
building for fourteen fathers; no river; their gusto too rich and
luxuriant, occasioned without doubt by the fiicility of working
their stone; they seem to shew some remains of the spirit and
elegant genius of the Greeks [who] formerly inhabited these parts.

28.

8-f f, set out from Lecce; corn, sheep, pasture, olives, olive-
grove. 10+25, '^^^ ^^^ grove ; corn, sheep, pasture ; fine view to
the left of a country well inhabited; white houses, extended fields.

552 yournal of a

rows of trees, groves, scattered trees, the whole a wide plain,

11 + IO, corn, wide unenclosed plain, few trees, reddish soil, not
very rich and somewhat sandy. 1 1 4- 25, passed through Gua-
gniano, a considerable village and well built; stony road, corn,
vines, fig-trees, stone walls for hedges, open stony ground, burnt
grass, as indeed everywhere ; sheep a small flock ; large vineyards
right and left ; walnuts ; spacious corn-fields on left, behind them
trees^ and behind the trees a considerable town ; corn right and
left ; beans. 12 + 5, olive grove, corn and vines and walnuts and
almonds mixed with the olive-trees ; got out of the grove at
12-}- 40; olives and vines to the left, open country, corn and
scattered trees on the right; flax, corn and olives right and left.

12 + 50, a wood, oaks and other forest trees thin, much under-
wood, oxen and cows, large birds like cranes, i -|- 20, quit the
wood for a large plain covered with divers sorts of pretty green
shrub and thyme, which we have often met with, and supply the
place of heath and fern ; stubble, goats and sheep right ; corn right,
shrub left, the country wide and flat ; scattered trees and groves in
view, but no enclosures; stony field on the right, open pasture,
sheep and oxen, corn, oxen ; air perfumed with speermint growing
over an ample space right and left. 2, Bracciano, a poor village,
where we dined under a fig-tree by the side of a well in a poor
man's garden, who helped us to a salad, &c. ; this village belongs
to the Archbishop of Brindisi. 4, we set out from Bracciano.
Large green plain, in which corn; shrub, corn, pasture, cattle,
goats, sheep; small ascent; shrub, wide stony field; shrub and
stony ground ; long tract of corn, interrupted in one place with
a little flax, in another with a few olives ; rocky ground and corn
on the left; road rocky; corn right and left; parched pasture,
amidst wall of huge uncemented stones grown rough with age, on
the right. 7 + 5, Casal-nuovo ; Franciscan convent ; treatment
there ; friar at midnight knocking at the door and singing ; Thomas
and Scotus ; conversation with the guardian in Latin, and another
friar. Franciscans, except Capuchins, not bitten or poisoned by
the tarantula, those animals having been cursed by St. Francis; the
habit worn twenty-four hours cures the tarantato.

29.
Walk out in the morning ; meet a physician gathering simples
in a field near the town. He judged the distempei* of the taran-

Tour in Italy. 553

tati to be often feigned for lewd purposes, &c., as the spiritati.
The wonderful fountain, which, being in a great subterraneous
grotto, runs into a cistern without ever filling it". Great remains
of double walls of huge stones, and fosse of the ancient Mandu-
rium. The odd small old building, consisting of a double rotunda
and a large niche at the upper end and some walls, as of a vestibule
beyond it, said by the inhabitants to have been a temple of the
Sun, afterwards turned into a church j some old pictures of saints
on the wall- seems built in the early times of Christianity,
Many, if not most, of the great stones in the old walls seemed
a congregation of oyster and scollop shells entire, cemented
together by hard plaster. Convents six, and one nunnery; 8000
souls, though I think over reckoned, belonging to the Prince of
Francavilla. Corn, flax, and cotton in great plenty about Casal-
nuovo. 7 + 50, left Casal-nuovo ; corn, olives left ; few figs and
walnuts right; pasture amidst quarries; roads very rocky; low
shrubs and thyme ; land open and poor ; corn and figs for half
a mile before we come to Oria. 10 + 5, Oria, situate on a rocky
hill ; chain of small hills about two miles long, and Oria on one
of them. A bishopric; fragments of old pillars in the streets;
goodly prospect to Gravina, Brundisium, Lecce, &c. Inscription
as follows on a pedestal lying in the churchyard of the cathedral : —

D. M. COCCEIA M. F. PRIMA V. A. XX M. COCCEIUS FILI^

PIENTISSIM^E. Plain of vast extent round on all sides; part of
an old Roman wall near the castle ; belongs to the Prince of
Francavilla. N. B. Several caves or grottoes in a rocky hill near
Uria. Set out from Uria at i, after having dined wretchedly in
a stable, that being the only place we could find in the town ;
stony ground, corn and olives in abundance, figs, vines; long tracts
of corn and long tracts of vines alternately, olives and fig trees;
ditches on each side the road, and bramble hedges. 2+4, grove
of olives, ground gently wavy. 2 + 40 m., quit the grove; large
open tract of ground, stony field, spacious field of oats, stony road,
shrubs right, vineyard left. Francavilla about 2 miles on our right;
vines right and left ; vineyard left, field of beans right ; ridge of
fruitful hills about two miles oflF on right; corn, beans, [Rudiae
the country of Ennius, placed by Cluverius between Uria and

" [Berkeley here quotes Pliny Lib. ii. He adds, ' N.B, The Physician mistook Livy
c. 103, of part of which the description of for Pliny.']
the fountain is an abridged translation.

554 yottrnal of a

Tarentum midway ; but we saw no ruins of that town. At Lecce
they placed Rudise within two or three miles of that city. M.] This
afternoon single houses up and down the country thicker than
usual ; few scattered trees throughout; pasture and stubble; cows,
oxen, sheep, corn, and ciceri ; stony field, ploughed land, corn ;
shrub on left, corn right ; beans, corn ; stones and shrub right ;
ample prospect of open country, pasture, ploughed land, &c.,
bounded by gentle hills or risings. Get out of the spacious stony
shrub; easy descent; olive grove, corn, garden stuff. Gulf of
Taranto in view; large vineyard right and left; parched rough b
pasture. S. Giorgio, a considerable town on our left ; corn, open, c
Pass close by a village on our left; pasture and corn; rough,
stony, shrubby ground ; flock of sheep, almost all black, the com-
mon colour in these parts ; large shrubby, stony tract, and corn
&c. a small distance to the right; slew a black serpent, 4 feet
long; ploughed land, corn, shrub.

Come to the side of an arm of the Gulf on our right; great
space of corn ; olives at a distance to the left, on a gentle hill ;
the ridge of low mountains still continued on the other side of
the sea; tufts of ciceri, rushes, olives, corn, cows and oxen;
ascent ; shrub ; space of corn ; corn, olives, vines, the olive trees
large and many among the corn; vines and fig trees; olives,
vines, and gardens; convents, houses; olives, pasture; corn left,
convents and gardens right and left. Arrived at the Zoccolanti
Scalsi [Barefooted Friars ?] by 8 -f i. 8 + 3, open corn and Tarentum.

30.
Taranto, trade in corn and oil; inhabitants 15,000; no taste in
the buildings; streets narrow and extreme dirty. Archbishop's
palace noble; spacious apartments; loggie overlooking the whole
Gulf of Tarentum ; the serenity and noble prospect of that Gulf.
Handsome seminary near the Archbishop's palace; logic, philo-
sophy, theology, humanity taught in the same; youth, secular
and ecclesiastic, are taught, dieted, and lodged for 30 ducats per
annum each. N. B. These seminaries common. Fine inlaid
chapel in the cathedral, which hath likewise ancient pillars in
the great aisle, with rude chapiters; various coloured marbles in
the inlayings, found in the ruins of the ancient city. Nothing
more beautiful than this oval inlaid chapel, painted well enough
above with the life of St. Cataldus, an Irishman, formerly Arch-

Tour in Italy. 555

(ishop of Tarentum, now patron of the city; his body behind
he great altar. [The skull of St. Cataldo in the silver head (which
hey say was finished by an angel) of his silver statue. His tongue
Iso uncorrupted, M.] A Gothic building shown for Pilate's house.
Jeveral noble families settled in Taranto. Tarantato that wc
.aw dance here, no looking-glass or sword ; stamped, screeched,
jcemed to smile sometimes; danced in a circle like the others.
The Consul, Sec. inform us that all spiders except the long-legged
)nes bite, causing the usual symptoms, though not so violent
IS the large ones in the country. He tells me the tarantula
auses pain and blackness to a great square round the bite ; thinks
:here can be no deceit, the dancing is so laborious ; tells me they
are feverish mad, and sometimes after dancing throw themselves
into the sea, and would drown if not prevented; that in case the
tarantula be killed on biting, the patient dances but one year;
otherwise to the death of the tarantula. Ruins of old walls on
the sea-shore, half a mile from modern Tarentum^^, Ruins of an
amphitheatre (different from what we had elsewhere seen, as
being without the passages) \ of a mile from the town, between
the foresaid ruins and the town. A mile from town the same
way an old church and the grotto or subterraneous passage from
the little sea to the gulf, built of huge stones. AH spiders, except
those with very long legs and those in houses, white and black.
The taking of the tarantula out with a straw nothing singular,
and done without whistling or spittle. Tarentum now in an
island, with two bridges. Two old columns of Verde antico in
the chapel. The ruins of the amphitheatre defaced by the friars,
who have a convent there, and a garden in the amphitheatre.
Medals and intaglios found here; gold and silver, wrought and
unwrought, found along the side of the little sea, which makes
them believe the street of the goldsmiths' shops was there. Corn,
wine, oil, fruits in abundance in the territory of Tarentum.
Consul says the scorpion likewise causes dancing^ J.

'^ [Vallardi in his Ilinerario Ilalio says, through, chiefly by the holes of the [braces?],

' The harbour being choked can only receive and sending in a moist vapour swells the

small barks.'] corn to 43 increase in the 100: to prevent

'■' [Berkeley gives in a brief form the infor- its rotting by this moisture they change it
Illation and quotations relative to Tarentum, every 8 dales from one magazine to another.
which are now to be found in Cramer's The experiment easily made by weighing
Italy. He also adds this note :] — ' Inhabit- equal bulks of theirs and the peasants' corn
ants of Taranto place their magazines of just brought in. This affirmed by the Con-
corn near the sea, which insinuates itself fessor to the Germans.'

556 Journal of a

31.

8 + ^, set out from Tarentum. The ancient Tarentum on a
tongue of land between two seas, same way by which we came
towards Fagiano, a town of the Albanian colony. Left our last
road on the left j olives and corn, and open corn fields ; wide
green wavy pasture, large flock of black sheep. No mountains
in the heel of Italy. Coarse pasture, open corn ; all the way corn
and pasture ; open country ; hills at our left distant, sea near our
right. N. B. Mistake in the maps making the heel mountainous,
there being nothing more than gentle hills or risings, and few of
them. Dined with an Albanian priest at Fagiano, who treated
us very civilly ; he could give no account of the first settling that
colony. The men, he said, had been formerly employed in some
wars of Italy, and during their absence the women taking no care
of their books, they were destroyed ; so their MSS. histories and
records perished. 1500 souls in Fagiano, all Albaneses, and
speaking the Albanian tongue ; their children learn the Italian at
school. Fagiano a clean, irregular town ; instead of our thatched
cabins, small, square, flat-roofed, white houses. The priest told
us the arm, e. g. being bitten by the tarantula swelled, confirmed,
as indeed everybody, that common notion of the tarantula's death
curing the bite. His house very neat. Everywhere great respect
for a knowledge of the English, owing to our commerce, fleets, and
armies. Ancient Greek chapel painted with barbarous figures,
and inscriptions much defaced, in characters partly Greek and
partly barbarous. This priest never drank wine except at the
sacrament, having an antipathy to it. Beside Fagiano, La Rocca,
S. Giorgio, and 3 or 4 more towns mostly Albanese, but Fagiano
entirely. Bed of cuorioli, or broken shells of periwinkles, &c.,
along the shore of the small sea, used formerly, as they say, in
dying purple; wool in the fish called baricella, of which stockings,
waistcoats, Sec, like silk, but stronger. A little fish in the shell
with the baricella, which, standing on the top of the open broad
shell (the lower end being shaped like a horn, and always stuck
in the ground), sees the approaching porpoise, and retreating into
the baricella, gives him notice to shut his shell. Three or four
drops of oil spilt on the sea enables fishers to see the bottom.
Abbate Calvo said Count Thaun had given 40,000 pistoles for

Tour m Italy. 557

the continuation of his government the last year- a grain per
rotolo tax on the beef- the butchers discount with the town-
CQlIectors by little bits of stamped lead given by the free persons
for the tax of each rotolo. Two islands in the gulf that break
the winds and make the harbour more secure. Taranto walled j
a strong castle ; soldiers 128.

June I.

1 4- Tj set out from Taranto over the other bridge. Corn, large
grove of olives j corn mixed with olives, being great old trees,
as indeed in every other grove • corn fields ; corn, apples, olives,
pomegranates, and other fruit trees; shrub and corn fields; a
forest ^ of a mile distant left ; ridge of low fruitful hills or risings
all the way about a mile and a half distant on our right. Town
Matsafra on the side of the said ridge. The country we pass
through plain, and though fruitful, hardly any houses to be seen.
Dried pastures, unequal ground, being descent ; a small vale, in
which tufts of rushes, olives, figs, &c.; ascent. A small village
on left; corn fields planted with young olives in rows; long vine-
yards right and left, with figs and other fruit trees ; poor pasture ;
corn right, olives left ; a great open country, not a perfect level,
but nearly so, consisting of pasture, corn, and a vast large shrub
of wild thyme, &c. 5 -f 35', ground wavy ; some corn amidst the
shrub; rugged stony ground, hills and vales mostly covered with
shrub. 7 + 32', out of the shrub ; corn fields, grove of olives ; ine-
quality of hill and dale; ground rocky; still olives, corn among the
olives ; quarry of white stone on the right, wide corn field on left ;
road hewn through the rock ; corn and olives on both sides ; stone
walls, beans. 8+10', Castalneta; the people drawn up in the
street in lines to see us ; the number of clergy or abbates besides
the regulars; these loiter in the streets, particularly at Mandu-
rium the Theatines. Letter to the Dominicans from a clergyman
at Taranto; their inhospitality in refusing to lodge us; we are
received at the Capucins; sit round their fire in the kitchen.
Castalneta belongs to the Prince of Acquaviva, of a Genoese
family. A bishopric, 6000 souls; 3 convents of men and 2 of
women; city dirty, and nothing remarkable in art, nature, or
antiquity. Odd to find the fame of Whig and Tory spread so
far as the inland parts of South Italy, and yet one of the most

558 Journal of a

knowing fathers asked whether Ireland were a large town. [Library
Scholastic, and some few expositors with a few fathers in a small
room. One or two Classics. They take it ill to be asked ,if
they have any poets. In another convent^ they said ' What have
we to do with Virgil ? we want good sound books for disputing
and preaching.' M.]

June 2.

Set out at 7 + 12', the friars in a body accompanying us to the
gate of the convent. Land unequal ; corn, vines, figs, almonds
intermixed; corn, open country; large shrub to the left, pasture
and few scattered fruit trees to the right ; shrub on right and left.
8 + 50', get out of the great shrub into a spacious tract of wavy
country, or distinguished by risings ; in it not a tree in view ;
some corn, some shrub, much the greater part stony pasture;
a small brook, no cattle nor houses, except one or two cottages,
occur in this ample space ; sheep feed here in winter, in summer in
the Abruzzo, grass here being dried up in the summer, and a fresh
crop in September; in the Abruzzo pinched with cold in the winter.
These easy hills, or rather risings, and plains great mountains in
the maps. This immense region to the right and left, a parte de
vue^ appears desert, not a man nor beast; those who own the
sheep mentioned are men of the Abruzzo, many of them very
rich, and drive a great trade, sending their wool to Manfredonia,
and so by sea to Venice ; their cheese to Naples and elsewhere
up and down the kingdom; they nevertheless live meanly like
other peasants, and many with bags of money shan't have a
coat worth a groat; much cloth made at Venice. 10 + 40', grass
deeper, white, yellow, red, blue flowers mixed with it. 10 + 55',
vast opening before and on the right, on the left rocky hills; in
all this vast tract not a tree or man or beast to be seen, and
hardly 2 or 3 scattered poor houses ; an infinite number of butter-
flies, and shrubs mixed with the pasture. 11+ 25', rocky ground ;
opening on right into a far extended green corn vale between
green hills bearing corn to the very tops ; rocky hills left, stony
ground, a vale before with corn and vines and a few trees. The
hills round have corn, but no trees, except those on the right,
which are barren and rocky, without either trees or corn ; pasture,
wild corn, vines left; corn right, vines left for a long space; road

Tour in Italy. 559

cut through the rock. Inconveniently cold for several hours this
morning j ciceri, vines, corn; great quarries in rocky hills on our left;
few figs on left, corn on right ; rocky ground ; vines right and left.
Matera 1 + 303 archbishopric, souls 17,000; they seem to mis-
reckon, being deceived by the figure of the town. Houses 10, one
above another like seats in a theatre, built down the sides of an
oval hole ; more men cannot stand on a mountain than on the
under plain. Dined in a garden, offered by a farrier of the
town as we were looking for a tree in the suburbs; the man very
civil and well behaved, which is the general character. Guardian
of the Franciscan's letter to Gravina; he's displeased that we
stayed not there in Matera, as Calvo had intimated in his letter to
him. Nothing extraordinary in the buildings or churches ; all these
inland towns in our return inferior to those on the Adriatic.
6, set out from Matera; vines, corn, walled gardens of fruit-trees,
rocky road, wide opening descent, mostly high mountains at a
distance on the left ; hills below ; pasture and corn ; hills and vales
all green ; pasture^ corn, shrub, the last but little and on the hills.
Vines left, corn, pasture ; the same hilly country continued in the
night ; a world of shining flies ; rocky hills. Lost our way ; arrived
after much wandering afoot at a Franciscan convent without the
walls of Gravina at 11 in the night, dark. [Grana dat et vina
Clara urbs Gravina inscribed over a gate of the town. M.] Last
reckoning of the inhabitants 9850; walled town, duke's palace,
bishopric, cathedral; well paved with white marble ; situate among
naked green hills ; 5 convents of men and 3 of women ; unhealthy
air in wet weather. Duke a wretch ; princes obliged by del Caspio
to give their own or the heads of the banditti with whom they
went sharers. Priests count the number of their parishioners
at Easter; Bishop of Gravina dead these two years, since which
no bishop in the town, the Viceroy not admitting the person
made bishop by the Pope, as being a foreigner. N. B. The
Bishop of Matera 12,000 crowns a year; these bishops not so
poor as commonly thought. In Matera and Gravina they make
a distinction between nobile and cavalere, the latter being
esteemed the higher rank.

June 3.

Part from Gravina at 10; open green fields and hills mostly
covered with corn backwarder than in the plain; corn the com-

560 Journal of a

modity of the country. Here and there rocky j rocky barren moun-
tains about three miles distant on right j not a tree ; some trees
on our right thinly scattered; a small brook; pasture and little
corn. II, great scene opening, long chain of barren mountains
distant about 3 miles on right; open pasture, not a tree, and
pretty plain, wavy rather than hilly ; few blue mountains distant
on left; a little corn on the right, thistles left; for half an hour
passed a green vale of pasture bounded with green risings right
between our road and the stony mountains. 11+ 40, vast plain,
corn, the greater part pasture between ridges of mountains;
Appennine on the left, old Vultur on the right; hardly a house
on the plain or hills ; the Vultur near and is a stony barren moun-
tain. I + 20, a deep vale, diversified with rising hills reaching to
the mountains on left, i -f 25, Poggio Ursini, where we dined ;
chaplain lent us his chamber in the Duke of Gravina's. Masseira,
dirty ; the Duke spends some time there in hunting. Tarantula
not in this country; he hath seen several bitten with a black
swoln mark as large as half-a-crown ; they knew not they were
bitten till dancing; tarantula bites only in the hot months; a
peasant at Canosa laughed at their biting, and said he had often
taken them in his hands. Duke of Gravina 30,000 ducats per
annum feudo, and 30,000 negotio. Doors and entrances of the
houses dirty and forbidding here and elsewhere, but otherwise at
Lecce. 3 + 40, set out from Poggio Ursini along the same plain;
pasture, corn ; beans left, corn right. 4+ 10, descent into a vale ;
pasture left, meadow right with hay made ; corn, plain, pasture,
and green hills on right and left. After a little straying, turn to
the left and descend ; tall thistles 5 foot high ; corn in the vale ;
corn and pasture. 5, great length of corn along the bottom of the
vale on the right, small hills and large spaces of rising ground
well covered with corn and pasture. [N.B. Italians living
in towns makes 'em polite; the contrary observable in the
English. M.] Still between the mountains as before; ample
space again; wood at a good distance on left, 2 of great
length along the low mountains. 64-20, descend into a
spacious plain (not a perfect plain, but rising lands and vales
intermixed) ; corn, pasture, and wood ; not a house in view this
afternoon. 6 + 1, Spennazzuola, a village belonging to the Duke of
Calabretta, inhabitants about 3000 ; this seems too many for so

Toil/ in Italy. 561

small a place, and yet I was assured it by a priest of the town ;
3 convents. Situate pleasantly, having on one side fine wood and
hilly glens with trees and corn, on the other an open country,
corn, and pasture ; fleas innumerable.

June 4.

Set out at 6 + 1; open hills, corn, and pasture as before; corn.
7 + :^, large space of ground, shrub thin, and pasture; forest trees
on the right, ridge of woody mountains three miles on left; wide
vale, shrub, and pasture opening to the left, displaying a delight-
ful scene, a fruitful ridge of hills well wooded bounding the sight.
8, wood on right, and shrub succeeding. Lopalozzo, town on
a pleasant hill on the left ; fruitful pleasant plain between over
swelling hills and mountains on left; vale between gentle hills;
pasture, corn, shrub; rising ground, corn, pasture and corn in a
long vale on right, wood on the gentle hill that bounds it; rising
land, pasture, shrub or copse ; descent into an ample plain ; corn,
shrub, pasture advancing obliquely to the woody mountains,
beyond which higher mountains; delightful small vale, environed
with gentle hills most crowned with wood, a river or rather rivulet
running through. 9 + :i, ascent, little space, through a wood; rising
open corn field right, wood left ; beyond the corn on right, pasture
with cattle, and beyond that chain of fruitful hills; up and down
through the skirts of a wood, soil stiff reddish clay, glade opening
to the fruitful hills on right. 9 + 40, large corn field, bounded
with gentle hills, a few scattered trees among the corn right, forest
left ; down a hill, at the bottom of which a rivulet, forest on both
sides, long glade opening to the left bounded by the mountains.
Left Acherontium, now Circnza ^^^^ on our left behind, on a moun-
tain's top. 10 + 25, Brionrc, a city on a mountain left, and Barial
on the mountain side; large shrub, being the skirt of the forest;
a large plain, shrub, pasture, much corn, in which Vcnosa. Ail
this while advancing obliquely to the mountains on the left; glen,
large walnut trees in the same descending road along the right
side of it, bits of old walls on our right of the road; corn, vines,
olives, &c. on the steep hills on either side ; pass over a brook at
bottom of our descent, which stony; stony ascent after the brt:K)k,
grottoes on the left; the same glen, after turning, now on right.

['* Acerenza. Orgi\
VOL. rv. O O

562 Jotirnal of a

Arrived at Venosa at 12; poor ill-built town inhabited by pea-,
sants; souls 5000 j bishopric; churches mean ; statue of Horace,
being a sorry Gothic bust placed on the frieze of a pillar in the
place. Horatius Flaccus by name^ well known to all the poor
men of the town, who flocked about to tell us on seeing us look
at the statue; the men of this town in crowds gaping and follow-
ing us about the town, the idlest canaille and most beggarly I have
anywhere seen. Morsels of inscriptions in the walls, pieces of
pillars and other ornaments of rich marble about the streets.
Near the cathedral old brick walls shown us for the house of
Horace. ' This,' say they, ' we have by tradition.' By the foun-
tain remains of 2 busts, with an inscription maimed underneath,
beginning 'C. TuUio;' fine white marble lion at the same
fountain. Two or three more monumental stones with maimed
epitaphs in a row. Venosa belongs to the Prince of Torella.
3, set out from Venosa, which is situate on a rising ground in
a vale between the horns of the Apennine (the horn on our left
entering the town, low and fruitful, the Vultur anciently). Rising
ground, descent ; walnuts, pomegranates, olives, figs, vines, corn ;
ascent, fruit-trees on right and left, corn, and pasture, and wavy
plain. 4, along a narrow road between hills, thicket on either
side, vale ; brook on our left ; stony road ascending, coarse narrow
vale on the right bounded by stony or rocky hills ; narrow between
hills, vale opening to the right, pasture, much corn, herd of swine.
Leucrienna; small river on the right running through the vale;
turn to the right through corn part ripe and part reaped ; pass a
stream ; hills close on the left, vale with pasture and corn ex-
tended on the right. 6 + ;^, narrower between hills, presently
large opening ; ploughed land right, corn left ; not a house this
afternoon ; wide vale opening to the right and left ; old church ;
green hills left, partly covered with wood ; corn reaped and ripe ;
two little houses near each other. River Aufidus in view on right,
running so as to make oblique angles with our road ; his banks
deep and shore spacious, showing him outrageous at certain times;
his margin adorned with green trees. 7 + i, crossed Aufidus ; steep
ascent, then a spacious plain, corn; corn everywhere suflPers for
want of rain. Wide pasture after the corn ; flock of sheep, black
as usual; a straw cabin belonging to one of the Abruzzo shep-
herds; ascent, stony coarse pasture full of thistles; not a tree;

Tour i)i Italy. 563

pasture less stony. Cappella, small town on a rock distant 6 miles
left; ample space of corn right and left. 9, ascend out of the
vale. N. B. All this day environed by mountains. After our
ascent through a difficult path, many ups and downs, stony, nar-
row and uneasy, among shrubby mountains, 8cc. on fcx)t, we
arrived in the night at an ample opening, much corn, and thence
by an unequal stony road descended to the town of Ascoli, where
we arrived at 10 + ^. While on foot in the dark, about \ a mile
before our chaises (which we had lost and sought crying), we passed
by some country folks eating beans in a field, who kindly asked
us to partake. Ascoli hath 500 friars; bishopric; 10,000 ducats;
Duke of Ascoli residing there, 15,000 ducats per annum from
tenants, besides 10,000 from negotio. Roman bricks and frag-
ments in the walls of houses, several pieces of pillars, imperfect
or defaced Roman inscriptions, grottoes in the hill adjfjining.
Situation on a hill, environed mostly by a plain, corn and pasture;
not a tree; hills on the left. Inhabitants are clergy and peasants.
They boast of a saint's finger kept in a church of a convent on a
hill overlooking the town, which, so far as the church is visible,
prevents the bite of the tarantula. Convents in Ascoli 3; stone
lions several here as at Venosa and Beneventum.

Set out from Ascoli at 7 ; descent, coarse pasture most, some
corn left; plain, some corn, much pasture; plain, opening to the
sea on right. 7+^5 bridge over the Carapella; Villa Cedri about
10 miles wide on left on a hill ; ground dried and burnt like a turf.
N. B. Mornings cold, afternoons hot; ascent, convent on right;
soon aftjr descent, some corn, most pasture, soil burnt black, road
black like turf; large parched plain continues, bounded on each
side by hills. 9 \-% ascent, then descent into a larg.- vale ; parched
ground, grass and corn, large grove of wild pear-trees right. Troja,
on a hill before us, ascent; large field of corn in a vale on right,
better or less parched land than before. Troja left on our right
about 6 miles. 10 -j- ^^, past a bridge over a perfectly dried stream ;
stony road through woods; out of the wtxxi, hill covered with
wood left, shrubby hills on right. 1 1 -f-20, Ponte Bovino; s:-t out
from Ponte Bovino, or the Great Inn, at i \'\. Stone road through
the Apennini" on the side of the Cerbalus, which runs through the

002

564 yournal of a

bottom of the glen on left; woody mountains right and left.
Bovino, city on the mountain top left, the deep vale or glen on
left full of trees, spots of corn now and then, as well in the vale
on left as on the mountain on right; between whiles delightful
openings of cultivated land among; bridge. Bauro, town on the
mountain left ; long bridge over a glen. Monteon, town on
mountain right ; another bridge ; dry river now and then shows
itself; large fountain built of square stone, pleasant shading from
either hand across the road. 6 -}- 20, the mountains sink on either
side and the road opens, the wood decreasing; fields of shrub, and
corn mixed therewith, on the sides of the mountain ; flat slips of
green corn along the bottom of the vale left ; bridge ; wood ends in
shrub; pasture and corn fields on a hill left. Savignano left,
Greci right; both on points of hills. Out of the shrub into an
open hilly country, corn and pasture; bridge over a dry river, not
a drop of water; country grows more plain, wavy corn country,
not a house to be seen, hills fruitful. 10 + i, Ariano ; after several
hours of windy rainy, cold weather; forced to have a fire, being
exceeding cold (not wet), the 5th of June, N. S.

June 6.
8 -{-25, left Ariano; descent, large prospect of fruitful low hills
covered with corn and trees like England right and left. Grove
left, delightful prospect of wide vale and chain of adverse hills
fruitful. Furmini on a hill left ; descent for some time past ; rising
hills fruitful, yielding view like the county of Armagh. Brook;
Bonito on a fruitful hill right, the other brook or branch of Fumo-
rella between Ariano and La Grotta. Wavy, hilly, open country;
corn and grass, some hills (especially about La Grotta and on the
sides at some distance) well planted with trees, others bare of
trees; little shrub near La Grotta. La Grotta at 11 ; procession;
peasants in fine clothes, host under canopy; firing guns, streamers
and standards flourished; confraternities, clergy, &c.; red and blue
petticoats, &:c. hung out for arras. N. B. A procession in the
same place before, y^scent between corn fields, hills and vales
thick scattered with trees ; ascent through enclosed road, on both
sides fine gentle hills covered with corn and adorned with trees ;
all this day cold, though wrapped in my cloak ; foggy, mizzling,
bleak weather, like that in Ireland ; beans, corn ; ascent all the

Tour hi Italy. 565

way from La Grotta to Fricento '■'"'. Shrub and corn, long view of
pleasant hills left, long grove of oaks on pleasant rising ground
right; ample fields on gentle hills, fern, corn, oaks; deep glen or
vale full of trees left, another vale right ; beans, corn, oaks scat-
tered all about; m.ost ample prospect, opening hills, partly wooded,
partly naked; towns on points of hills, beautiful vales, elegant
confusion, all this on looking to the north from a hill. [In a
sanctuary on Monte Virgine are contained the bones of Shadrach,
Mesech, and Abednego. This in the famous monastery there
resorted to for miracles, indulgences, and reliques numberless. M.]
Stony road, corn, top of a hill covered with fern ; short descent,
corn. Jesualto in a vale right, vale of great extent running parallel
to our road on right, and terminated on the other side by moun-
tains finely wooded and thrown together. [Mons Tabor, anciently
Mons Taburnus. M.] From Fricento (where we dined suh dlo
without the town, in the view of many people) we went down a
descent of three miles, through wood, corn, and pasture, to the
Amsancti lacus; triangular, whitish, stinking; about 40 paces
about. Famiglietta threw in a dog, who, after half an hour, came
out bones. Peasants find birds, hares, goats, wolves, Sec dead
about it, and go to lock for them in the mornings during summer :
5 years agone 2 men found dead. The water good for the itch,
wounds, leprosy; cold; thrown a yard high; other the like lakes,
but small; depth unfathomable. Silver all turned yellow, whereas
Vesuvius and Solfatara turn black; oaks smell, being burnt. Small
stream hard by the lake, of a like whitish water. Stone hollowed
at one end, somewhat like a font, said to be a remain of the
temple. N.B. Our entertainment at Famiglietta's, &c.

June 7.
Vale, and beyond that vale, craggy, high, green, shrubby moun-
tain; open fields; woods; fields planted with trees around; Vcsu-
vio; towns and white houses scattered on the hills to the right,
with Mons Taburnus; Amsancti valles to the left — this on kxiking
to the west. Pianura, Campi Taurasini '«, Benevcnto lontano; flat
ploughed land, wood in the middle — north. Trevico right, Ariano
left; sea between naked mountains thrown variously together;
villages, ploughed land, and woods in the vale ; Fiumc Albi — cast

[IS Frigento. Org7\ ["• ? Sec Smith's Diet, of Ancient Geography, in art. 'Taurasia.']

566 jfournal of a

prospect. Amsancti valles; two fine woods • rising land between
S. Angelo delli Longobardi right, and La Guardia delli Longo-
bardi left; high mountains to the right and left, lower before —
south. Six bishoprics and 2 archbishoprics; Taurasi and La
Torella. Fricento belongs to the Principe della Torella ; 25,000
souls [2500. M.] ; July and \ August without fires. An image
on Monte Virgine protects the country about as far as visible,
from tarantulas, which, say they, are here likewise. Two bears
slain last year in a neighbouring wood.

June 8.

Set out from Fricento at 12; down hill; corn, pasture, open
a few scattered trees; shrub left, corn, deep vale right; before
a vast opening, vale between rising hills, green, yellow, red
different shades of; corn fields, with woods and scattered trees
lost the way among beans and corn; got into the great road
descent; rising hills, corn, woods; fruit trees and few vines on
either side the road ; adverse long hill or fruitful mountain on the
other side the Galore ; Monte Mileto and Monte Fusco in the
same. 6, left Ponte Galore; passed the river, which in Italy is
large enough ; ascent up a paved road ; corn, pasture, trees ; vari-
ous rising ground. Monte Mileto left, on a hill covered with
wood ; vines twining round trees left, corn and trees right ; vines
hanging in festoons from tree to tree; Monte Fusco right; veiy
good made road; immense prospect of vale and hills right, part
wooded, part not. This view seen to advantage from Monte Fusco
and Monte Mileto ; our road like lightning. 8, got to the top,
whence a new extended scene discovered of vales and hills covered
with wood, likewise of high mountains, and several towns scat-
tered on the sides and tops of hills ; country beautiful, fruitful,
various, populous; very many new towns in delightful situations,
some on the points of hills, others hanging on precipices, some on
gentle slopes, &c. Double most noble scene (just described both)
seen from Monte Fusco, lying to the eastward and westward;
highest mountains right and left, covered with trees. Ponte del
Prato; large bridge, hardly a drop of water under it; hills and
vales all round, richly covered with trees, as well fruit as others,
and vines and spots of corn ; another bridge over a valley for the
convenience of travelling. Prato, a town right ; ascent ; descent ;

Tour in Italy. 567

long bridge over a valley; cross a bridge over the Sabato, 4 miles
before we reach Avcllino; shining flies. From Sabato we pass
along an enclosed level road to Avellino, where we arrived at
10+^. Avellino reckons (I doubt misreckons) 30,000; 'tis an
open, handsome town, situate in a vale among high mountains
covered with wood. Fountain and town -house adorned with
busts and statues handsome enough. N.B. Best inn I met with
in the kingdom here.

June 9th.
Set out from Avellino at 6 + 50; a tall avenue of elms; grove
of hazels (much esteemed here) on each side the road, and vines
in festoons from pole to pole among the nuts on left ; avenue
ends, being a mile long. All this way on right and left high hills
covered thick with trees, chesnut or continued forest ; large wall-
nuts on the wayside ; grapes in festoons on both sides. 8 + ]- ,
hazels end. 8 + 20, pass through Monteforte, a small town ; as-
cent ; descent ; stony unequal road, between mountains covered
with chesnuts close on either side ; hazels, walnuts, chesnuts all
the way ; vines in festoons ; large cherries, great number of trees
thick laden with them all along the road ; hill on left almost
naked, having only the stumps of trees ; bridge. Pass through a
village; vineyards in festoons right and left; village; vines and
fruit trees; another village; figs, cherries, vines, &c. right and
left; village. 11 4- ^, vineyards right and left; olives and vines
left, vines right. (N.B. Corn, hemp, &c. among the vines for the
most part.) Vineyards right and left, i, Nola; souls, 3000; 7
convents men, 5 women.

POLLIO JULIO CLEMENTIANO SUBVENTUI CIVIUM NECESSITATIS

AURARI^ DEFENSORI, LIBERTATIS REDONATORI VliE POPULI

OMNIUM MUNERUM RECREATORI UNIVERSA REGIO ROMANA

PATRONO PR^ESTANTISSIMO STATUAM COLLOCAVIT '''.

First inscription under a statue in the court of a private house;

'■^ [Berkeley has here copied another in- nor is it plainly writtin. It ieems to be
scription, but it does not appear correct : thus : —

FILI^ SEX. F. RUFIN/E SORRERI FIGI SERENI AUG. LA RUM
MINISTRI. LD. DD.

VICTORI/E AUG. AUGUSTALES.]

568 yournal of a

2 other inscriptions under 2 of the 4 statues ancient in the place
before the cathedral; one of the remaining two is of the same
Pollius, the inscription of the other is defaced. The Bell. Bishop
4000 crowns, out of which pension 2000. Left Nola at 3 + 1 ;
'Thisus Alus Cujus/ &c. over the Jesuits* gate along the fagade
of the convent ; apples, plums, cherries ; pears, apricots, vines,
corn on each side the road. 4 + j, festoon vineyards right and
left, also corn; Campagna between mountains; Vesuvius left.
5 -|- f , a village ; still festoon vineyards, elms, corn right and left,
but no mountains, at least none in view. (> -^ ^-^ village. 6 + f , vil-
lage. N,B. The greatest part of this afternoon vines round elms
without festoons. 8, Naples.

Road from Rome to Naples.

ist post 6 miles, through the flat campagna; some hay and
corn; not a tree; hardly a cottage.

2nd post to Marino, 6 miles through the like flat campagna,
though ascending insensibly towards Marino, which is a pretty,
clean village, belonging to the Constable Colonna.

3rd post 9 miles, to Veletri. About 2 miles after Marino, pass
by the lake of Caste! Gondolfo on our right; view of Castel
Gondolfo; land pretty well tilled in the beginning of this post.
Within 3 miles of Veletri, steep descent to that city. This post
over and among hills and woods.

4th post 8 miles and \. First mile and \ through enclosures
and trees; 7 last through rising ground, being spacious, open,
green corn fields. Cisterna, seat of the Prince of Caserta.

5th post 7 miles from Cisterna, the better part through a
forest with deer, belonging to the Prince.

6th post 8 miles from Sermeneta, lying through the Campagna.
A mile and \ on the other side Sermeneta attacked for a giulio.
N.B. The Campagna green, and in many parts woody, flat, and
marshy ; no houses ; hardly any corn ; no cattle, but a few buffa-
loes.

7th post to Piperno, seven miles. Near a mile in the Cam-
pagna di Roma; the other 6 among hills and fruitful vales.
Piperno situate on a hill.

8th post 8 miles: 2 first among wood and hills; 6 last through
a plain champaign, mostly uninhabited, &c.

Tour in Italy. 569

9th post to Tcrracina, (S miles, along the side of shrubby, stony
hills on left. Some ruins, seeming of sepulchres, on the road • on
the right Monte Circello in view. All this post on right marshy
low ground, little cultivated or inhabited.

loth post to Fondi, 10 miles. Limits of the kingdom entered
within 6 miles of Fondi. Near 2 miles beyond the boundaries
passed on our left a sepulchre of huge square ftones, very noble
and entire, now turned into a stable for asses j no inscription.
The 2 first miles of this post close along the sea, b:'ing edged on
the left by mountains; many broken rocks has fallen in an earth-
quake on the road; about 5 miles further having woody and stony
hills on left close, and at small distance on right the Palus
Pomptina; land flat, marshy, hardly inhabited for the illness of the
air, 3 last miles through a fruitful plain ; oranges, &c. before we
reached Fondi. A small river seemed to render it marshy and
unwholesome, flowing by the city on the side towards Rome.

nth post from Fondi to Itri, 7 miles. First 3 or 4 miles
over a plain, gently ascending, planted with cypress, orange, and
lemon trees near the town of Fondi ; last 3 miles between and
over hills on the Appian Way : these hills extend across to the sea.

12th post from Itri to Mola, 5 miles. Itri a town poor and
dirty, but pretty large. This post enclosed between hills right and
left; many olives, almost all on the Appian Way,

13th post from Mola to the Garigliano, ,S miles. A large
grove of olives, after which near 4 miles stony, unequal, shrubby
ground; 4 miles more, fine corn country, meadows also pleasant,
and scattered trees in sight. Near the Garigliano we passed
between an old aqueduct on the left and certain large ruins on the
right, as of an amphitheatre. This post we had the mountains
near us on left and sea on the right. Divers ruins, as seeming of
sepulchres, this post on the road side. Greater part of this post
on the Appian Way, whereof fragments appear entire, and ending
abruptly, as if part had been cut oflFor taken away, Liris larger
than the Vulturnus, N.B. Treeto on a liill on the other side the
aqueduct.

14th post from Garigliano to S. Agata, jo miles. Ferry over
the river; open, large, flat, pleasant meadows along the Liris,
which flowed on our left; after which, chain of mountains on our
right; country unequal, with pleasant risings; wiliiin 4 miles of

570

yournal of a

S. Agata country thick planted with vines and olives, especially
the latter, of which a perfect wood near S. Agata. N.B. Sessa
fine town within less than a mile of S. Agata. Henceforward to
Naples the Campania felix, which begins either at the river Liris,
or on the other side Sessa, the ancient Suessa Aurunca.

15th post from S. Agata, 10 miles. 2 first miles through a
country thick set with vines, olives, &c., in which the Appian
Way, no more of which to Naples ; hills these two miles on left
and right; at the end of these two miles a village, [Cassano] where
the view of the Appian road. After this village a hilly country, and
great part of the road cut through a rock ; then a wood of oaks,
cypress, &c.; after which delicious country like the following post.

1 6th post 9 miles to Capoa, through delicious green fields,
plain and spacious, adorned with fruit trees and oaks so scattered
and disposed as to make a most delightful landscape, much corn
and fruit, many white country houses beautifying the prospect;
mountains on our left.

^^ Terra di Lavoro, 56,990, besides Naples, its casali, and about \ a
dozen more from towns whose fuochi^^ are not numbered.

Fuochi.

Aversa 1905

Capua and casali 5343

Caserta and casali 1 1 84

Fuochi.

Fundi 188

Itri 440

Madaluni 749

Principato citra Salerno.

Fuochi.

Auletta 119

EboU '3^^^

Nocera di Pagani 536

Principato ultra.

Fuochi.

Ariano 749 Fricento

Avellino 600

Fuochi.

Salerno 1636

Scafati 68

Vietri „ 185

Fuochi.

'* The following notices are on the oppo-
site page : —

(1) Principato citra all Picenza [^Picentia
on the coast] with part of Lucania and
Campania felix : its metropolis Salerno.
Cities 18, whereof Salerno and Amalfi are
A.B.Pcs, the rest Bps. Grain and wine
plenty.

(2) Principato Ulteriore, provincia Hirpina,

with a small part of the land cf the Samnites
and Campanians; of 13 cities, 2, i.e. Bene-
ventum and Conza, ABps, the rest Bps.
Wine, chesnuts, hunting, fishing.

^'^ [This word is indistinctly written. It
looks like /uodi. I believe it to ht fuochi =
fires, i.e. hearths or families, as in the phrase
pro arts etfocis.'\

Toiw in Italy.

57^

Basilicata.

Fuochi. I

Lago Negro 570 Vcnosa

Spennazuola 491 | Matera

Calabria bassa 6 citra.

Fuochi.

Castro Villari 183

Cosenza 1 854

Cassano 284

Tarsia

Terranuova

Calabria alta n ultra.

Fuochi.

Catanzaro 2651 Montcleonc

Cotronci 60 Pizzo

Cotrone 446 Rofarno ...

Isola

112 I Scminara

Terra d'Otranto.

Fuochi. I

Brindisi 1428 I Fagiano

Castellancta 691 : Lccce ,

Casalnovo 1002 Taranto

Terra di Bari.

Fuochi.

Bari 2345R

Barletta ^1?tS^

Canosa 269

Gravina 1916

Giovcnazzo 628

Monopoli

Molfetta

Mola

Traiii

Visceglia alias Biscglia.

Fuochi.

47.?

2027

Fuochi.

37
168

Fuochi.

'793
442

379
945

Fuochi.
123

3300

1870

Fuochi.
1864R

1247

'43*^

7«7

1692

Capitanata.
Ascoli 381.

In the Kingdom of Naples —

Princes 128 I Counts

Dukes 200 Archbishops

Marquesses 2CO | Bishops

N.B. Reckoning the eldest sons and double titles.

21
127

Gran coite della V'icaria, supreme court like (somewhat In cur

572 Journal of a

King's Bench. Governed by the Regent of the Vicaria a Cavaliere,
who therefore is assisted by judges civil and criminal.

The great officers have the precedence, title, and stipend due to j.
their places, but their power is exercised by the King; that of the j
Great Constable (i. e. Captain General) by the generals, colonels
capitani d'arme, Sec; that of the Gran Giustitiere by the Regent
of the Vicaria; and in like sort of the rest.

Collaterale is the supreme royal tribunal, composed of the seven
great officers, the Consiglieri di Stato and the Regenti, or of the
7 officers and Regenti della Cancellaria. This hath supreme
power in making laws, punishing magistrates, commerce^ &c.

Sacro Consiglio, consisting of President and Counsellors. An-
ciently the kings of Naples appointed judges of appeal from the
Vicaria and other tribunals. But Alfonsus the First of Arragon
took away those judges, constituting this Sacro Consiglio di
Giustitia to judge of appeals from all parts of the kingdom. Not
only causes of appeal, but likewise first causes are determined by
them, for which the President delegates such Counsellors to judge
as he pleases. Their sentences are given in the King's name.

Regia Camera, which takes cognizance of the royal income or
patrimony (as they call it), i.e. taxes, customs, &c.; in a word, all
that belongs to the Exchequer.

Gran corte della Vicaria, above explained, but this its place.

So much from Capaccio; what follows next from Pacichelli and
others.

I mo. Tribunale is the Consiglio di Stato, consisting of such
persons as Viceroy pleases : a sort of Cabinet.

20. Tribunale is the Collaterale, consisting of six regents of the
Cancellaria, who have great power, or rather sovereign, in the
management of affairs relating to civil institutions, commerce, &c.

3". II Sagro Consiglio, un Presidente con Ventiquattro Consig-
lieri, hear appeals, and also first causes: acts in the King's name.

4°. La Regia Camera detta la Sommaria ha per capo il gran
Camerlengo ma esercita la Giurisdittione per un Luogotenentc
scelto dal Re. Under him are 8 presidents, doctors, and 3 presi-
dents [?], idiots' advocate, procurator fiscal, secretario, registers,
accountants, clerks, &c., qui si maneggia il patrimonio reale, Sec,
si affitton gabelle, 6cc.

La gran Corte della Vicaria si Administra da un Luogotenente

Tour in Italy. 573

che si elegge ogni due anni del Vicere detto Regente. This court
is divided into the two udienze civile et criminale, .6 judges to each.

Divers other tribunals, as that of S. Lorenzo, governed by the
eletti, 7 in number, but with 6 votes, one being chosen out of and
for each Seggio, except that of Montagna, which chooses two, one
for itself, and one for Ponella and Seggio incorporated with it, but
they have only one voice.

N.B. The eletto del popolo is thus chosen : — Every ottina (of
which there be 29, into which the whole city is divided, being
the same with regions or wards) nameth two persons, which
making in number 58, these assemble, and with the Secretary of
the Piazzo del Popolo for Revisori delli voti ; after which every
of the 58 names being eletto, which is often done with maledic-
tion and invective scurrilus, si bussolano and si notano i voti and
the six with most votes are written in a note and carried to the
Viceroy (by 8 persons chosen by ballot out of the 58), who names
which he pleases for eletto. The 58 likewise name a council of
ten persons to assist their eletto. Every ottina likewise names
6 persons, whereof the Viceroy chooseth one for capitano of that
ottina, who is a sort of justice of peace, taking care that no one
offends or is offended in his ottina, take care of the poor, &c. ;
great power commanding so great a people.

Capitani and eletti del popolo govern as long as the Viceroy or
the Piazza pleases^ but ordinarily for 6 months.

The power of the Tribunal of the eletti extends to setting a
price on the annonaj take care also of the health, for which they
appoint two deputies, one a noble the other a plebeian, who
govern a felucca that visits all ships, boats, &:c., and sees that
nothing contagious enters the city. The eletti themselves pay
a salary to these, and give out patents for ships parting from
Naples, as likewise pay the man who watches to see the quaran-
tine duly performed and goods aired.

The Grassiero is a huomo Regio, or magistrate appointed by the
King. He was first joined to the council of the eletti in a.d. 1562,
in the time of the Viceroy Don Perafan di Ribera, Duke d' Alcala,
under the pretext only of providing the city with corn, but by
little and little hath crept into all business, and now in fact is
president of the Tribunal of the eletti, who can do nothing with-
out him.

574 yournal of a

Divers other tribunals or courts of lesser note, as la Zecca Regia
per Pesi et Misure, per li Notari, per Dottori in Legge et Medi-
cina, &c., &c.

A parliament or deputation of 24 persons, 12 deputati del
Baronaggio and 12 della cita di Napoli, give a donative, for which
effect use to be assembled by King's letter every 2 years. The
city pays no part of these donatives, yet the deputies of the city
are the first to vote, and subscribe, and have precedence in all
cases, but with this difference, that the city hath but one vote and
the Baronaggio 12, 6 titolatos and 6 plain barons. Their use the
Donative. These deputies or parliament meet in the convent of
S. Lorenzo; the Viceroy at the opening goes to hear read the
King's letter before the parliament by the Secretary of State, and
at the close goes to receive their compliance with it.

Giulio Cesare Capaccio assures us that in his time the garden
herbs eaten every month amounted to 30,000 ducats in the city of
Naples; likewise that the gabella on fruit (it not being ^ of a
farthing per pound of our measure and money) amounted or (which
is more) was set for 80,000 ducats per annum, exclusive of oranges,
lemons, bergamots, and the like.

Four castles in Naples to protect and bridle the city: — Castel
St. Elmo, Castel Nuovo, Castel dell' Ovo, and II Torrione del
Carmine.

Si ricavavano prima dal regno 5 milioni e piu di rendita, oggi
pero S2 ne ritrahe da due millioni in circa. Pacichello, published
1703.

The nobility of the several parts or districts of the city of
Naples were used anciently to assemble in certain public places or
piazzas in each district, where they conversed together. These
places being much frequented, they came to build certain open
porticos, sustained by arches and railed round, where they met
together, which in process were improved and beautified in imi-
tation of the portici of the ancient Greeks and Romans, and
separated or appropriated to those families that used to assemble
in them; and from being places of mere chat or conversation,
grew to be so many courts, in which they considered and debated on
choosing magistrates and providing for the health and plenty of the
city. The S.ggios are five. N.B. The Seggios are five, viz. il S:ggio
di Capoana, di Nido, di Montagna, di Porto, di Porta nuova.

Totir in Italy. 575

Lac Virginis in Ecclesia S. Ludovici apud P.P. minimos S*'
Francisci a Paulo asservatum liquefit quolibet assumptionis die.

Sanguis Johannis Baptistse liquefit quotidie in ecclesia quadam
Neapoli prout mihi referebat Dux quidam Neapolitanus.

Sbirri 150 tyrannized the island of Ischia cruelly, on account
of seven persons who had slain one of their number. The re-
lations to the number of 100 taken up and imprisoned at Ischia;
general ordeis that no one remain in their houses in the country,
all with their goods being obliged to repair to the towns; people
met in the masserias beaten unmercifully. Fear and trembling,
and no going to do their business in their vineyards for 10 days,
then allowed to return, some to their houses, others not. Cellars
of wine throughout the island all this while left wide open at the
mercy of the Sbirri. Relations of the banditti seized in the
churches. Some few, many of the prisoners allowed the liberty
of walking about the fortress. The prisoners most part poor old
women, the men absconding and lying out of their houses in the
woods for fear. Commissario della Campagna, with his Sbirri,
continued about a month at Ischia. The inhabitants may kill
one another without fear of punishment, this rout being never
made but for the death of a Sbirri. We were alarmed and roused
out of our beds by o^^ Sbirri one night.

The people of this island in other respects good enough, but
bloodthirsty and revengeful. Those of Foria and Moropane of
worst fame for murdering, being said by the rest of the island to
have no fear of God or man.

The habit of the Ischiots: a blue skull-cap, woollen; a shirt
and pair of drawers; in cold weather, doublet and breeches of wool.
They wear each by his side a broad pruning-knife, crooked at the
end, with which they frequently wound and kill one another.

Piano now Pieio, Casa Nizzola now Casamici, Fiorio now
Foria.

A fine plain all round Pieio, planted with vines, corn, and fruit
trees.

The amphitheatre about a mile and half round the top, whence
on all sides a shelving bank descends to the flat bottom, the which
bank clothed with oaks. Oaks, elms, chesnuts, and cupc [?] in this
island. East of the amphitheatre (which is called La Vatalicra
vulgarly) is a village called Cumana, and beneath a shady valley

576 yournal of a

called II Vallone Cumana, between that village (seated on a moun-
tain called II Monte di Borano) and a high mountain called La
Montagna di Vezzi.

Pleasant vineyards overlooking Ischia on the middle between
the two towns.

On the north side of the Cremate, about 2 mile long and i
broad, fine hills covered with myrtle and lentiscus; vales too
among them, and towards the sea fruitful with vines, &"c. Here-
abouts Pontanus formerly had a villa. Onwards to the north-west
you pass through roads planted with myrtle, &c., vineyards, and
little inequalities of hill, vale, wood, shrub, &c. to the lake, about
a mile round, on the border of which the Bagno di Fontana.

Vistas in the island very various, as sometimes in a plain thick
planted with trees and vines, obstructing a distant view ; at other
times a patent prospect in a vale environed with fruitful hills, on
which white houses scattered, Borano with its steeple makes a
pretty prospect, being situate on a hill. Sometimes a deep road
with high banks on either side, very refreshing in the heats;
sometimes deep and tremendous precipices, many round hills
gently rising, covered to the top with vines; sometimes horrid
rocks and grottoes, and clefts in the earth with bridges over them
in some places.

The bath Ulmitello lies to the south part of the island in a deep
cleft between rocks, which opens into the strand of the sea ; it is
a well or two without buildings.

South of Testanio there is a strange confusion of rocks, hills,
vales, clefts, plains, and vineyards one above another, jumbled
together in a very singular and romantic manner.

North or north-west stands the Sudatorio di Castiglione in the
side of a rock, on which Jasolino tells you may be seen the ruins of
a castle since the days of Hiero. I saw some ruins of an old wall,
but nothing that looked like Greek or Roman work, the stones
and cement being but rude. I saw likewise the ruins of a piscina,
or receptacle for water, well plastered. Between this rock and the
sea, in the vale, lies Casa Cumana, a small village where Jasolin
thinks the Euboeans first inhabited. Near the sea-shore, likewise
in the vale, I saw the Bagno di Castiglione.

Two eletti in the city of Ischia officers of the city supreme.
When they go out of office they name each two candidates, out of

Tour in Italy. 577

which the eletti del popolo for next year are chosen by the parhi-
mento, consisting of twenty persons, 10 countrymen, ten citizens,
the which parliament is new made reciprocally by the eletti as
soon as they come into employment. This parliament consults of
things relating to the well governing the town, assessing taxes,
6cc. In Furia they have a syndic for supreme magistrate, likewise
chosen by the people^ there is another syndic between Borano and
Fontana, one year in Borano, and names a deputato to govern in
•Fontana, and vke 'versa. This magistrate sets prices on meat,
bread, corn, wine, &c. Catapani are inferior officers that go about
the shops inspecting bread, wine, measures, &c. So far Signor
Giam. Battista.

Jachino and Aniele say that once only in three years the syndic
is in each of the 3 following towns — Fontana, Borano, Casamici,
the syndic sending two deputati to the other places. Twenty men
constitute the senate of each of these 3 towns, and Furia, which
ibath constantly its own syndic. These all vote for the eletti of
Ischia, who (if I mistake not) reciprocally make the syndics.

Several gentlemen of Ischia taken up and sent, some to be im-
prisoned at Naples, others at Surrento, others at Caprea, at the
same time that near 200 were imprisoned as relations of the ban-
ditti in the castle of Ischia. These gentlemen were taken up on
suspicion of having favoured somehow the flight or concealment
<i)f them. Among the rest some of the eletti, Don Francesco
Menghi, and Don Domenico Riufreschi, a man of great note,
were confined in their houses.

South-west of the island, on the sea-shore near the Castle of
S. Angelo, is the Arena of S. Angelo, as also a hot bath. In
some places a smoke and sulphureous smell issues from the sand ;
in others, making a hole, there suddenly issues out hot water^ which
in a little time boils eggs, beans, or other things for the peasants.

Natale saith there are forty in the parliament of Ischia, as
many constitute that of Furia, 20 in the others. The eletti and
syndics are proposed by the Marquis del Vasto or his Castellano,
double to the respective parliaments, who choose which they
Jike.

The parliament men for life ; judge changed once a year.

Ischia, Campagnano, Pieio, Cumana, Testanio, Borano, Fon-
tana, Moropane, Pansa, Furia, Casamici, Cufa.

VOL. iv^. p p

578 Journal of a

Inhabitants of Fontana keep flocks of sheep and goats. Lower
parts of Mont S. Nicolo clothed with vines; upper part with
barley, wheat, and Indian corn ; top naked and white. Fontana
situate among oak trees. Narrow, deep vales, like cracks in the
earth cloven by an earthquake, as appears by the opposite sides
tallying, as also from their shape : a bridge over one of these.

Furia in a plain situate at a corner of the island, having a
sort of mole and harbour ; the country about it full of vines and
fruit trees. Some rough land and ups and downs between that
and Lo Lacco. This last town and Casamici situate among vines
and fruit trees, after which hills covered with myrtles and len-
tiscus, glens, groves of chesnuts, &c.

The clergy of Ischia get each a Caroline a mass; the parish
priest is not allowed to say above one mass a day; admits others
into share of the profits arising from masses for the dead.

The number of the clergy in Ischia accounted for by their
lodging the goods of the family in the name and under the pro-
tection of the priest, who in case of murder or the like crimes
secures them from forfeiture. The bishop admits none to orders
who is not invested first with the sum of 700 ducats.

'Pontificum collegium usque ad Theodosii senioris tempora Romae
fuit. Quibus uno edicto sacerdotum omnium reditus fisco appli-
cati sunt.' Zosimus.

Fat quails in Ischia sold for 3 farthings a piece ; these brought
by wind from Africa hither and to Caprea, whose bishop's revenue,
consisting mostly of quails, is uncertain as the wind.

Women imprisoned at Ischia as relations of the banditti after
divers weeks set free at five ducats a head.

Quinces also and medlars in the island ; and, among other fruits
unknown to us, two deserving note particularly, viz. lazzaruoli
and suorli.

The inhabitants make a good deal of money out of dried figs
and uv9e passae.

Confraternity of 100 persons in Testanio. When any one of
these dies, a hundred masses are said for his soul at the expense of
the society, it being a Caroline a mass. The like fraternities all
over the island, as well as everywhere else in Italy. The parish
priest's fee is 7 carlines a death, a hen a birth, 15 carlines a mar-
riage. On New Year's day, Easter day. Corpus Christi day, he

Tour in Italy. 579

dispenses indulgences, and all that are worth money bring it him
on these occasions according to their ability.

Mem. The celebration of St. George's (the patron of Testanio)
day and other festivals.

Women's ornaments large gold earrings, and if married, many
large gold rings set with false stones on their fingers ^ but the
principal finery consists in the apron, particoloured and em-
broidered with tinsel, ^z. ; these worn only on holidays, no more
than the rings.

The Ischiots likewise make presents of their wine and corn,
&c. to the church, for supplying wax candles and keeping it in
repair.

At certain times laymen go about begging money for buying
wax candles. Meeting them once on a time, I asked them for
whom they sought charity. A woman standing by said, ' For Jesus
Christ.'

Not a beggar to be seen in the island, except now and then a
poor foreigner that comes to the baths.

No stories or notions of ghosts among the common people.

In marriages of Ischiots, the wedding-day, the relations of the
bride, brothers, sisters, &c., accompany her to the bridegroom's
house (her father and mother excepted, who always stay at home) :
having left her there, they return to the house of the bride's father
and there sup, as the relations of the bridegroom do at his house.
Next morning relations of both parties bring presents of hemp,
napkins, shirts, utensils for the house, &c. neatly done up in
baskets, to the house of the bridegroom, where they are treated all
that day at dinner.

In burials the fraternities accompany the corpse j nearest rela-
tions mourn a month, not shaving their beards for so long.

Burrhi [?] the chemist told Sealy he could do the miracle of
St. Januarius' blood.

This Sealy is a lively old man that has eat 2000 vipers. I have
seen him eat them raw and moving.

'Si quis piorum manibus locus; si, ut sapientibus placet, non
cum corpore extinguuntur magnae animse j placide quicscas, nosquc
domum tuam ab infirmo desiderio et muliebribus lamentis ad con-
templationem virtutum tuarum voces,' &c. Tacitus, In Vita Agri-
cola. N.B. This like papists praying to the dead.

p p 2

580 yournal of a

N.B. The description given of the Bonzi in Japan by MafFeius
(lib. 12) agrees to the Jesuits exactly, there being no such power-
ful and crafty institution among the old Romans as may serve to
match them or be drawn into parallel.

3 or 400 ducats a common portion for a woman in Ischia.

Sept. 7. N.S. 1 71 7.

Between 5 and six in the morning it began to thunder, and
continued without a moment's intermission in one peal for the
space of above an hour, during which time the south sky seemed
all on fire.

Quails said to be met in great numbers on the sea, swimming
with one wing up for a sail.

The demoniacs of S. Andrea della Valle something like the
foaming priestesses or mad Bacchanals among the ancients.

Mem. To consult V. Maximus for parallels to the Church of
Rome.

Oranges, lemons, olives, and medlars likewise grow in the island
of Ischia.

Near relations, as son e.g., on the death of his father abstains
two days from all nourishment, even a piece of bread or sup of
wine j nothing but a cup of water.

Ischiots' linen all made of hemp.

' Urbe capta a Gallis, virgincs vestales pedibus abeuntes L.
Albinius in plaustrum recipit depositis inde uxore et liberis.'
Thinking of the English merchant at Leghorn who left his mother
out of his will to leave all to the Jesuits or friars, puts me in mind
of this.

Sunday morning, Sept. 19. N.S.

Fair weather, without rain, wind or thunder; saw three flashes
of lightning come into the chamber.

Children now, as formerly, brought to the temple of Romulus
and Remus. Abbate Barbiere.

Roman matrons, near 200, condemned for poisoning many prin-
cipal persons of the city, anno U, C. 424, of which thing saith Livy,
'Prodigii ea res loco habita: captisque magis mentibus quam con-
sceleratis similis visa.'

Totir in Italy. 581

Dictator made for striking a nail in tlie wall of Jupiter's temple.
Qu. if nothing like this in the Roman Church.

' Volsci Pontias, insulam sitam in conspectu litoris sui, incolu-
erant.' L. 9. d. i.

Mem. To consult Dionysius Hallicarn. of the Roman religious
rites, and A. Gellius and Plutarch.

The Holy Scriptures, as formerly the books of the Sybils, made
a secret. The oracles of Sybilla Cumana were kept in a stone
chest in a cellar under the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, inspected
only by the Quindecimviri in cases of sedition, loss of battles^ pro-
digies, or the like, when they directed how to proceed in expiating
the gods. Livy, Dionysius, Sec. Before the 15 there were ten ; and
before them, two. Livy, speaking of the Decemviri sacris faciun-
dis, calls them ' Carminum Sibyllse ac fatorum populi Romani In-
terpretes.'

Seculare carmen, &c. and the Jubilee.

Both honour their deities with fine statues.

Both worship them with plays. Fireworks, music meetings,
comedies, letting ofF guns, are reckoned fine devotions in the
Church of Rome, not omitting gaudy decorations of their churches,
possibly somewhat like lectisterniums ^^.

Qu. whether as incense, so wax candles, were used by the hea-
thens.

The leaves of myrtle and lentiscus dried and sent to the tanners
in Naples. Qu. about this, and whether there may not a like use
be made of leaves in England.

Road between the lake and Ischia lying through the remains of
eruptions. The stones I saw among these remains, particularly
those worn under foot, confirm the streets of Naples being paved
with the matter of eruptions.

Strabo (lib. 5) saith Procita was anciently broken off from Ischia :
that the Eretrians and Chalcedonians (or people of Chalcis) were
obliged to quit Ischia by earthquakes and eruptions of fire, of
which, saith he, there are many in the island: the same also

19 [On the opposite page Berkeley writes " Viva Giuda," &c. This was very shocking

thus :—' N.B. About five years since, or less, to some serious Protestants present. Qu^

Mr. Littlejohn was present at a represen- whether the ancients did not, as a piece o.

tation of our Saviour's passion at the Palace religion, represent or act certain passages of

in Naples. It was a comedy, horridly ridi- the history of their fabulous deities. J
culous. As Judas acted best, they cried out

582 Journal of a

obliged persons sent by Hiero to quit a building they had begun.
Hence the fable of Typhoeus lying underneath it. He quotes
Pindar as being of opinion that the whole tract of Italy, being from
Cumae^ and so on to Sicily, is hollowed underground with great
caverns corresponding with each other. Hence T^tna, Vesuvius,
Solfatara, Ischia, Liparean Islands burn, and that therefore he
feigned Typhoeus to be under • that tract. He likewise quotes
Timeus for horrible eruptions and earthquakes from Monte Epomeo,
which caused even the inhabitants on the coast of the continent to
withdraw with fright into the midland parts of Campania. So far
Strabo.

Pliny (lib. 3. c. 6) saith Ischia was called ^Enaria, from the good
reception or station i^neas' ships met with there; and Pythecusas,
from the, Greek Pythos, signifying an earthen pitcher or sort of
earthen vessel.

Ovid, Metam. 1. 14: —

* Inarimen Prochytamque legit sterilique locatas
Colle Pythecusas;'

where Pythecusas and Inarime are plainly distinguished, the former
seeming to signify only the town on the rock.

Mem. To consult Lucan (lib. 5), and likewise for the Island
Ischia.

It is observable that Livy too distinguishes v^aria from Pythe-
cusae. The same passage (1. 8. d. i) of Livy makes the Eubccans
to have inhabited Ischia before Cuma, which Strabo says was the
oldest city in Italy or Sicily. Hence Ischia the most anciently
inhabited.

Aloes and Indian figs grow wild in several parts of the island,
at least the aloes grow wild ; likewise dates, almonds, walnuts.

The vista from S. Nicolo. South — Caprea, and mountains be-
yond the Bay of Salerno. South-east — Promontory of Minerva,
and beyond that the Cape of Palinurus, vulg. Capo di Palinuro,
Massa, Vico_, Surrento, Castelmare, all on the side of a chain of
mountains. East — Vivaro, Procita, Miseno, Baiae, Po2,2.uolo,
Pausilypo, top of Naples or S. Elmo, Vesuvius. North-east —
Cuma. North — Campania Felice, being to the sea, a large plain
on the other side bounded by mountains. North-west — Monte
Massici (as I suppose), Mola, Caieta, a small isle, &c., as far as

Tour in Italy. 583

the promontory of Retium. West — Ponsa, and two smaller isles
more. South-west — the sea.

In the fortress of Ischia, entrance cut through a rockj false
stairs; garrison no; nunnery; pretty cathedral, clean; ornaments
in stucco, paintings so so; bishop's palace; prisoners obliged to
buy the masserise of the banditti, and pay besides 5 or 6 crowns a
head. Dates and walnuts in the island of Ischia. Vivaro hath
some vines, a world of pheasants a mile and \ round. Procita
7 miles round; eight or ten thousand souls; 8000 butts of wine
the worst year, sometimes 15000 or more; yields the Marquis del
Vasto 4000 ducats per annum, besides free gifts of 3 or 4000
ducats now and then ; the latter sum was given by the University
(as they term it) on his returning from making a great expense at
Vienna. 200 feluccas or small boats ; 50 tartans -". What they make
in all of wine, fruits, and fish, amounts to about 160,000 ducats
per annum. Clergy 160, secular, whereof 120 parish priests; like-
wise a Dominican convent; subject all to the Archbishop of
Naples. Palace of the Marquis on the east or north-east point,
rising, large, regular, handsome, unfurnished ; not lived in by the
Marquis since Philip got possession of Naples ; he, being of the
other party, then left the kingdom, and since lived at Vasto; little
garden of myrtles and jessamines belonging to it. Fine view, the
whole one vineyard ; masseriae enclosed with stone walls ; houses
thick like a suburb to a town. Heights at two ends, east and west ;
on the latter a ruin, on the former the castle, and within that the
palace.

Harbour between Monte di Procita and Miseno. At the end of
Pausilypo Nisita, where M. Brutus, about a mile round, hath
a castle and 2 or 3 houses ; is thick planted with olives. Grottoes
in the side of Pausilypo. Virgil's school an ancient brick ruin ;
divers other fragments of brick ruin. (N.B. The first remarks
belong to the further end of Pausilypo.) Palaces along the side or
foot of Pausilypo; the hill all along crowned with villas, villages,
vines, and fruit trees. Pausilypo, Baiae, &c. all crack and broken
in the surface, as if shaken to pieces.

Since I came to Naples, a person formerly a waterman who tugged
at the oar bought a dukedom; he is now Duca di Lungano. This

=" \Tartane, a kind of ship.]

584 Journal of a

I had as certain from the English Consul. Valetta and the othe
reckon but 2 millions in the kingdom of Naples, and not above
five millions in Italy, a 4th in the city flying thither from the op-
pression of the barons who rule the country.

The ashes on an altar in the south of Italy which no wind could
stir. Livy.

The Hebrew and Saint in Genoa.

The holy water fright in Leghorn.

After all it may be said that the greater part of the ceremonies
and customs borrowed from the heathens are harmless. I agree,
indeed, that the innovations of their own making are more mis-
chievous than the adopted ones Their vestals were not

enough to thin a country j their colleges of augurs, &c. did not
swarm as modern friars; they had no order to parallel with the
Jesuits. Modern Rome hath inventions of her own worse than;
the old, and withal hath encheri upon the old,

Solfatara pays 700 crowns per annum to the Annunciata, and 60
to the Bishop of Pozzuolo.

Pontanus (1. 6) will have it that Ischia was torn by an earthquake
from the continent, the land being like tlie Campania Felice in
fertility.

Nat. Comes, in Fabula de Typhone, saith that Ischia is most
abundant and fertile, and rich in mines of gold ^ the same saitb
Jasolino himself.

Partenope (now called Venlotiene) on the west of Ischia, sea on
the south and south-west, Caprea south-east, Surrento east, Procita
and Naples, &c. north-east, Campagna Felice north.

Contiene (Ischia) promontorii, valli, piani, fonti, fiumi, laghi,
penisole, isthmi, monti, bellissimi giardini e copia di suavi e deli-
cati frutti, vini perfctti di piu sorti, gran copia di cedri, aranci e
limoni, e miniere d'oro come ambe dire Strabone[?].

Giovianus Pontanus had a villa near the ruins of the confla-
gration, as Jasolino saith, but I could hear nothing of it now.

Between the Cremiate and Casamici mounts covered with myrtle
and other shrubs.

Near the Sudatorio di Castiglione a vale in Jasolino's time, called
Negroponte.

Alum in the island of Ischia.

Monte and Castello di S. Angelo in una penisola.

Toic)" in Italy. 585

Fonte di Nitroli. The aqueduct that conveys the water of
Buceto 5 miles, from near the top of Epomeus to Ischia town.

Jasolino first printed in 1588.

V. Plinium, 1. 3. c. 6 j and 1. 5. c. 31 • and 1. 31. c. 2.

1 1 fountains of fresh and 35 of hot medicinal waters arc reck-
oned in Ischia.

A foolish custom of taking the baths and stufe an odd number of
times.

The baths of Ischia not so useful in the bissextile years. This
Jasolino affirms from his own observation, quoting, like Savonarola,
Baccio 6cc. for the same opinion.

It is usual to purge before the baths or stufe, to stay half an hour
in the bath, and sweat half an hour after in the bed.

Baths make one thirsty, and are apt to give the headache to those
who are ever subject to it.

During the baths beware of cold, use meats that are nourishing
and easy of digestion, abstain from sleep by day, water your wine
well, go to stool before you take the bath, be merry ; in certain
baths 'tis good to wash wounds.

A piece of a sword, two fingers broad and a span long, passed
between the ist rib and the jugular bone through the cavity of the
thorax and the point between the 8th and 9th rib behind. This
piece (thought to have been lost in the sand or sea) remained
a year and 17 days in the body of a Napolitan gentleman, whence
it was extracted (after many terrible symptoms) by Jasolino, and
the party re-established by the baths of Gurgitello and Fontana.'
The same baths probably enabled him to live so long with that
iron in his body, the wound having been made in Ischia and the
baths applied.

B. di Fornello good for the ague, spleen (or rather disorders in
the spleen); good for obstinate, deep, and sinuous ulcers, dropsy,
headache ; breaks the stone, draws away sand, opens the bladder,
helps in the gout, takes away nauseating of stomach.

B. di Fontana heals wounds, draws out iron, good for lungs and
liver, cures the mange or psora, makes the hair fair and long,
restores wasted persons, draws out fragments of bones.

B. di Gurgitello cures barrenness, repairs the consumed, strength-
ens the stomach, breaks the stone, good for the liver, cleans the
psora, incites an appetite, draws out iron.

586 yournal of a

B. degli denti et degli occhi vicine di Gurgitello.

B. d' Ulmitello is good for the arthritis, tenesmus, gravel, cholic,
ophthalmia, asthma, palpitation, ague, itch, leprosy, deafness, folks
disordered in lungs or spleen.

B. di Succellano, now called B. della Regna, is good for scab,
lengthens the hair, clears women's complexion, is profitable to the 1
bladder, eases tenesmus and ague. '

B. di pia2,zia Romana takes away itching of the eyes, stops the
running of tears, strengthens the eyes, purges bile, stops a cough,
fastens hair, preventing its falling, cures broken legs.

Sud. di Castiglione good for the arthritis, colic, mal del fianco,
hysterical fits, gout, dropsy, palsy, weakness of limbs; lightens the
body, cures disorders of the liver, as when redness in the cheeks j
cures scab, itch, morphea, &c. ; comforts the heart, gives an appe-
tite, helps digestion, is good for the vertigo, sores in palate, jaws,
and gums, and nostrils.

S. di S. Laurenzo at Casamici good for arthritis, dropsy, &c.

S. di Testonio, a hole in the ground, about 4 foot deep and 3
wide, sending forth a vapour sulphureous with some tincture of
nitre, calcanthus, and bitumen. This found on examining it by
a glass bell by Jasolino.

This milder than other sudatives, which frequently cause faint-
ingsj good for softening le parti indurite, for evacuating the
whole body by sweat ; lightens the body, dries internal wounds ;
good for the doglia del fianco, for hysterical fits and the dropsy,
taken in the beginning; good for palsies and convulsions,
6cc., &:c.

Rainerio Solenandro parlando di Testanio cive del sudatorio.
Cujus inter distorta crura vel quosvis alios statu deformis depra-
vatos artus impositos cuniculo dirigit et reformat : quemadmodum
a lignariis fabris videmus contorta ligna flammis dirigi et restitui.
Lib. 1°. de Can. Cal. Font. Med. cap. 8.

L' arenatione di S. Restituta mille passi lontana da Gurgitello.
The terreno sulphureous, aluminous, ferrugincous ; most excellent
for the dropsy, dissolves swellings from the gout, cures hysteric
affections; perfect cure for the palsy and contractions of the nerves.
Heats and dries, taken in beginning of summer or in autumn.
Hole must not be more than 3 foot deep, otherwise hot water
betrays itself. This water shows much salt beside the above quali-

Tour ill Italy. 587

ties. The arenation is good against leprosy, abortions, orthritis,
and dead palsy especially.

Arena di S. Angelo, on the sea shore, above a hundred paces
long and about 9 broad; in some places hotter than in others;
smokes and burns in some ; hath a bath or fountain of water near.
Nitre predominant^ with iron, bitumen, and sulphur. Good for
sciatica, gout, dropsy, abortions, palsy; in a word, for everything
that the former is, and in greater perfection.

The foregoing accounts partly from the Ischiots vtua voce., but
much the greater part out of Giulio Jasolino and Joannes Elysius,
Napolitan physicians.

Seely told me that he has drunk ten young vipers taken out of
the womb, all living, as big as large pins, in one glass of wine.
Takes powder of vipers dried in the shade, a drachm a day during
the months of May and September. Sweetens the blood above all
things.

Manna in Ischia.

Five dukes beside marquises, barons, Sec, now living who bought
their estates and titles from having been common merchants : one
had been a waterman, now Duke di Castiglione; another a porter,
now Duke di San Levissino.

Borellus will have it that the cavities of Etna are small tubes
and receptacles near the surface, running along the sides of the
mountain like syphons, which, incurvated, explain the ascent or
eruption of the liquefied matter through an orifice lower than the
fountain head. He thinks this the way rather than boiling over
like a pot, which is contrary, says he, to the gravity of that
matter, as well as to its density, which hinder it from ascending
or frothing. ' £t hoc,' saith he, ' historise yEtneorum inccndiorum
satis persuadere videntur nam nunquam observatum est ex altis-
simo JEXn'x, cratere fluorem vitreum eructatum fuisse, sed tantum-
modo exiisse fumos et flammas quae magno impetu ejccerint are-
nas et saxea fragmenta, fluorem vero vitreum semper ex novis
voraginibus apertis in diversis locis lateralibus montis exiisse.'
Jo. Alphonsi Borelli de Incendiis ^Etnje, cap. 13.

Borellus's slits in the side of iEtna explain those on Monte
Epomeo.

Borelli in the right that the mountain is large enough to supply
the matter flowing down the sides ; that the mountain subsides or

588 Jotirnal of a

decreases in height, while 'tis enlarged in circumference ; that the
rivers are made not so much of sulphur, bitumen, &c., as molten
stones and sand.

The formation of Monte Novo in one night, and the covering of
Inarime many foot deep (at least where I had an opportunity of
observing), seem to contradict Borelli, where he thinks there are
no such vast caverns, &c.

Borelli saith all the liquefied matter is generated near the surface
in the sides of the mountain, and that there is not only no deep
vorago reaching to the level of the sea, but not any vast cavity
(the bulk of the mountain internally solid stone, otherwise not
able to support so vast a weight), and the uppermost vorago, ac-
cording to him, not reckoning above loo paces deep. This to be
contradicted : earthquakes and workings in the sea prove large
caverns.

* Et magis Inarime, magis ut mugitor anhelat,
Vesbius, attonitas acer cum suscitat urbes.'

Valerius Flaccus, Argon, lib. 3.

' Hsec ego Chalcidicis ad te, Marcelle, sonabam
Litoribus fractas, ubi Vesbius egerit iras
^mula Trinacriis volvens incendia flammis.'

Stat. Sylv. lib. 4 ad Marcellum.

Diodorus Siculus will have the Cumaean field to be called Phleg-
rean from Vesuvius; I should rather think it was from the Solfa-
tara. Diod. I. 4 de Hercule.

Vid. Ep'istolam P/inii ad Taciturn.

[Here follows in the Bishop's Memorandum Book a long extract
in Latin from Xl phi lint Epistola Dionis in Tito.']

The head and face of Vesuvius changed by the eruptions often.
In Strabo's time it seems to have been neither biceps, nor to have
a hollow, being described a sandy plain a-top.

Observable that the eruptions have been mostly, if not alto-
gether, on the south sides ; the north been free.

Virgil, in Georg. 2, enumerating the choice wines, omits that of
V^esuvius, as also do other ancient authors; whereas it is now found
to excel all others. This owing to the great quantity of nitre from
the eruptions since the age of Classics. Anciently the soil was

Tony in Ilaly. 589

famous for fruitfulncss in corn, which it hath now lost, hut is
better much in wine.

Justin (Hist. 1. 4. c. i) thinks the eruptions are supplied tVom
the sea; and 1 have heard Napolitans of good sense maintain
that it was probably the sea water sucked in at the bottom of the
mountain which flowed out at the top.

Much nitre in Vesuvius; not so at Solfatara. Iron, silver, brass,
or the like metals, vainly or poetically (as in the inscription) pre-
tended to be in Vesuvius.

Vesuvius reckoned 32 mile in circuit, and above two mile per-
pendicular height.

It is pretended that in 31 [?] hot waters were spewed out of the
crater, and that the sea was dried in great measure, which is
brought to confirm Justin's thought.

Islands formed in the sea, and motion without winds observed
in the ocean, shew there are such portentous caverns as Borelli
laughs at.

Borelli saith Etna's top may be discerned by mariners at 200
miles distance, whence some have concluded it 6 mile perpen-
dicular height; but from evident reasons he perceives it not
possible it should be above 3 mile high; wherefore solves it
being seen at that distance by supposing its top above the atmo-
sphere. Qu. whether it may not more truly be solved by the
refractive curve in an atmosphere of different density.

The perimeter of Etna's base made by Borellus to be 133 mile,
and 3 miles its height.

Seneca ;V/ Ep. 79: ' Ignem in inferna aliqua valle conceptum
exsestuare et alibi pasci non in ipso monte alimentum sed viam
habere.'

Last eiTjption of Vesuvius to the south-east. The great torrent
in the widest part 3 miles broad esteemed.

Altera Japonioruni classis eorum est qui ncfaria gentis illius
procurant sacra, capite ac mento prorsus abraso, inter quotidiana
et occulta flagitia ct stupra, ca'libem nihilominus ac sobriam pro-
fessi vitam, atque ad mortales decipiendos conciliandx pc-cunix
causa, in omnc argumentum sanctimonix gravitatisquc C()nij>).siti :
iidem nobilium ac divitum exsequias ducunt, et altcrnantibus in
odseo choris, carmina suo more decantant, et dicendi copia cl
facultate pnrstantes concionibus populum arbitralu suo circum-

590 yournal of a

agunt. Variae ac multae numerantur eorum sectae : nee desunt qui
ad quandam Rhodiorum equitum speciem bellicas una cum re-
ligione res tractent: sed communi omnes appellatione Bonzii
vocitantur, honesto loco nati plerique : nam proceres multitudine
liberorum et angustia rei familiaris urgente ex iis aliquos ad Bonzi-
orum instituta ac familias aggregant. Multa insuper variis habent
locis gymnasia quas Academias dicimus copiosis instructa vecti-
galibus. Atque ob eas res prsecipuum, ante hanc hominum setatem,
toto Japone obtinebant honoris ac dignitatis locum ; sed post illa-
tas in ea loca faces Evangelii, fraudesque vulgo nudari et coargui
coeptas, multum videlicet universo generi de auctoritate atque
existimatione decessit.

A man makes a fine entertainment of music and refreshments,
or he discharges a vast quantity of powder in mortalletti, or he
makes an expensive firework, and this they call devotion, and the
author devout.

In the sudatory adjoining, Gregory the Great {Lih. Dial. 4) says
the Bishop of Capua saw the soul oF a holy man doing penance.
This he relates as a thing told and believed in his time ^i.

N.B. The various dresses, aspects, and complexions of the
Madonna.

[The following notice occurs on the opposite page : — 'The plebs
( Valetta tells me) are in the interest of the Germans j most of the
middling people, or gente civile, in that of the Spaniards. More
lawyers among the Neapolitans than in all Italy besides. Several
Spanish families settled and mixed with the Neapolitan, and now
become one with the people. He tells me that these eleven years
that the Germans have been here they have not made one friend-
ship, any of them, with the natives.']

Seely's story of the piece of tongue stuck in the wall of a
church, I heard told by him in presence of a marchese and a law-
yer, who yet persisted in the belief of that absurd miracle, saying
his unbelief hindered the operation.

At Bari the thigh-bone of the saint was seen in an open stone
chest on the side of the fountain, which had four lighted lamps
round it j this the German tells me, who saith the water most cer-

'• [This treatise, to say the least, is of probably very much interpolated. See Cave,
very doubtful authorship, and, in any case, Hist. Lit. H.J.R.]

Tour in Italy. 591

tainly did not run out of the bone, as he evidently saw. Yet at
Naples men of quality and learning stedfastly believe this.

One Saturday morning, a pewterer, our next neighbour, had a
Madonna, being a painted, gay dressed baby, brought from the
Spirito Sancto to his shop, which was hung with gaudy pieces of
silk for her reception. She came in a chair, the porters bare-
headed. Upon her arrival, mortalletti were fired at the door of
the pewterer ; the porters handing her out made a profound reve-
rence ; the windows opposite and adjoining were hung with silk
and tapestry. That night she was entertained with firework, as
she had been in the day with music playing in the street to wel-
come her. The next morning music again in the street, and fire-
work at night. The Monday likewise music, and tapestry hung
out as before. She was that day after dinner sent away in a chair,
with salutations of the porters bareheaded, and with firing of mor-
talletti.

S. Gregory (lib. 4 Dialogorum) relates that S. Germanus, Bishop of
Capua, being advised to sweat in the sudatory by the Lago Agnano,
there saw the soul of Cardinal Paschasius doing penance.

N.B. The Lago d' Agnano hath no fish, but abounds with frogs
and serpents.

Monday, April 11, 1 718.

Set out from Naples after dinner; reached Capua that evening.
Germans busied in fortifying the town against the approach of the
Spaniards.

12.

First post through delicious green fields, plain and spacious,
adorned with fruit trees and oaks, so scattered and disposed as to
make a delightful landscape ; much corn and fruit.

2d post, good part of it like the foregoing • then pass through a
wood of oaks, cupi [cypress ?], &c.; after that came into a country
less plain; hills, and great part of the road cut through rocks;
after which a village, Cassano, where we first meet the Appian
Way. Mountains sometimes before, mostly on our left, since we
left Naples. Then through a country thick set with wine, oil,
&c., to S. Agata, having hills on left and right. Sessa, fine town
within less than a mile of S. Agata.

592 yournal of a

3rd post 10 miles from S. Agata, thick planted with olives and
vines j save a good part in the beginning, a perfect wood of
olives; chain of mountains on our left; country somewhat un-
equal, with pleasant risings; after this, open^ l^fge, flat, pleasant
meadows along the Liris, which flowed on our right. Cross the
Liris or Garigliano at ten miles from S. Agata, which is a post-
house and little else. Here the Germans had made a bridge of
boats, which we drove over —. Having changed horses at Garig-
liano (a house or two so called), we passed onward between
an old aqueduct on the right and certain large ruins on the left.
Treeto on a hill on the other side the aqueduct, and in the last
post we passed by Castelforte on the hills, also on the right. Fine
corn, &c. country, till within about 4 miles of Mola, when it
grew stony, and unequal, and shrubby; near the town a large
grove of olives. This post we had the mountains near us on the
right, and sea on the left. Mola a sea-port ; poor town ^3. Divers
ruins, seeming as of sepulchres, &c., this post on the road side.
Greatest part of this post passed on the Appian Way, whereof
fragments appear entire, and ending abruptly, as if part had been
cut off or taken away. Liris larger than the V^ulturnus.

5th post from Mola to Itri. After a little way this post all
enclosed between hills on right and left ; many olives ; almost all
on the Appian Way. Itri a town poor and dirty, but pretty large.

6th post from Itri to Fondi. First 3 miles pr^terpropter between
and over hills on the Appian Way; then descend a few miles
further to Fondi, over a plain well planted ; cypress, orange, and
lemon trees near the town -^.

7th post from Fondi to Terracina, 3 miles through a fruitful
plain; oranges, &c. Without the town a small river seemed to
render it marshy and unwholesome, flowing by the city on the
side towards Rome, about 5 miles more, as I could judge^ having
woods and stony hills on right close, and at small distance on left
the Palus Pomptina; land flat, marshy, hardly inhabited for the

'^ [As they crossed in a Ferry-boat in tifully with the olive groves near them, while

coming from Rome, the bridge must have the middle of the picture is formed b}' the

been constructed in the interval. H. J. R.] Bay and the Promontory, and the back-

® [The Cicerone, the inn at Mola di ground by the distant hills. H. J. R.]
Gaeta, is supposed to be on the site of the ^' [The scenery between Fondi and Itri

Formian Villa of Cicero. The scenery is is very beautiful, but travellers in posting

lovely. The orange groves almost touch the days were anxious to press on quickly, as the

shore, and their bright green contrasts beau- inhabitants had a bad reputation. H. J. R.]

Tour in Italy. 593

illness of the air. About 2 miles further close along the sea, being
verged on the right by mountains, many broken rocks, as fallen
in an earthquake, on the road. Near Terracina a grotto with an
entrance like a large door cut in the rock, the face whereof is also
cut even down, resembling somewhat the gable-end of a stone
house. A fine square sepulchre of huge square stones I observed
within less than two miles before we came to the boundaries of the
kingdom. It stood on the road to our right, and is become a
stable for asses, a door being in one side of it, and no inscription.
N.B. Having passed six miles from Fondi we came to the limits
of the kingdom and entered the Roman States. Lie this night at
Terracina.

13.

ist post 8 miles from Terracina to Limarudi, along the side of
shrubby, stony hills on right; some ruins, seeming of sepulchres,
on the road ; on the left Monte Circello in view. All this post on
left marshy, low ground, little cultivated, and uninhabited.

and post 8 miles to Piperno, whereof six first through a plain
champaign much like the foregoing; the 1 last among wood and
hills. Piperno situate on a hill or eminence.

3rd post from Piperno to the next post-house, 7 miles, 6 among
hills and fruitful vales (i. e. the last) ; almost enter in the Cam-
pagna di Roma.

4th post 8 miles to Scrmeneta, lying through the Campagna; a
mile and half before we reached Sermeneta, a fellow extorted a
Julio with his gun. [See the 6th post in the Journey from Rome
to Naples, p. 568.] N.B. The Campagna green, and in many parts
woody; still flat and marshy; no houses, hardly any corn, no cattle
but a few buflraloes.

5th post 7 miles to Cisterna, where the dwelling-seat of the
Prince of Caserta. We passed this post the latter part through
a forest with deer belonging to the said prince. Few or no houses
in the Campagna.

6th post 8 miles and \ to Veletri ; 7 first through rising ground,
being spacious, open, corn, green fields; the other mile and \
through enclosures and among trees, &c.

7th post nine miles to Marino, over and among hills and woods.
Near 3 miles steep ascent from Veletri ; after about 6 miles pass

VOL. IV'. Q q

594 JoiLrnal of a Tour in Italy. j

by Castel Gondolfo, situate in a lake seeming 3 or 4 miles round.
The latter part of this post pretty well tilled. Marino a pretty
clean village, belonging to the Constable Colonna.

8th post from Marino to the next post-house, 6 miles through
the flat Campagna di Roma. Overturned topsyturvy in this post
in the night.

9th post 6 miles to Rome, through the flat Campagna; hardly a
tree or cottage ; some corn. Arrived at Rome about ten o'clock
last night, Tramontane reckoning -■5.

[Bishop Berkeley here gives many extracts from Roman Catholic
books. One he prefaces thus : — ' Instance of praying ultimately to
saints out of an office recited at certain times, viz,, on Fridays, in
the church, called II Transito di S. Antonio di Padua.' Oremus, &c.

He refers a^so to the Gratie e Miracoli del Gran Santo di Padova :
in Padova col /icenza anno 1 703, p. '^'y'^-

He quotes also the Acta Cano7iizationis Sanctorum Petri de Alcan-
tara et Maria Magdalene de Pazzij Rome, 1669, p. ID, and remarks
on the titles Sanctissimus and Nostro Signcre^ which belong to the
Saviour, being applied to the Pope.

He quotes also other instances of the practice of praying to
saints.]

''^ [The above Itinerary is almost identical ever, a few differences, which, combined with
with that in a former part of the Journal, other circumstances, give it an interest of its
only in the reverse order. There are, how- own. H. J. R.]

SERMONS, SKELETONS OF SERMONS,
AND VISITATION CHARGE.

PREFATORY NOTE

BY ARCHDEACON ROSE.

The Sermons and Skeletons of Sermons by Bishop Berkeley, now
published for the first time in the present edition of his Works, constitute
the largest amount of purely theological teaching which has ever been
laid before the world as proceeding from him. His high reputation was
won in other fields of thought ; but the character which the well-known
line of Pope has always connected with his name must necessarily give
a deep interest to any writings of his which relate to religion or the Bible.
These Sermons therefore have a double interest. They have the interest
derived from their own merit, and the additional interest of enabling us
to see in what manner a mind, at once so acute and powerful as Uiat of
Berkeley, would treat these most important subjects. We learn from
them the nature of his ordinary religious instruction from the pulpil.
It is remarkable that so little of it should remain. We have in his pub-
lished works only one Sermon and a Discourse on Passive Obedience.
The present edition adds three complete Sermons and twelve Skeletons
to those formerly known.

These Sermons, though they may not increase his literary fame, will
in no measure detract from his reputation. They have indeed a special
value in shewing his manner of handling these important subjects. In
one of them, that on the love of our neighl)()ur, wc may perhaps feel
that there is too much which is commonplace, but at the same time it
reflects so exactly the character which he always bore, in regard to
a charitable construction of the conduct of oilier men, that it has, on
that account alone, its own proper interest. The Sermon in Trinity
College, Dublin, was written in January, 1708, when he was very young.
It is more a reasoning essay than a sermon, but as Berkeley advanccil
in life he became more scriptural in his teaching : the moral reasoning
-appears rather to be withdrawn, and Scripture to come forth into its own
place. If we compare the sermon in 1708 with that preached at Leghorn

Q.q 2

5q6 Prefatory Note.

on Palm Sunday in 17 14, we shall observe this progress, which is still
more plainly seen in the Skeletons of Sermons, which belong to the
period of his residence in Rhode Island (in 1729-31), after a lapse of
fifteen additional years.

In the Skeletons of Sermons he marks constantly the passages of
Scripture which bear upon the subject of his text, and conducts the
whole range of his teaching in accordance with the line indicated by
them. He appears rarely to have been expository in his teaching;
there is more of application than of exegesis, and the whole discourse
usually takes a practical turn. If we knew the nature of his delivery, we
could judge better of these remains, for they appear exactly of the class
of sermons to which an earnest and winning manner would give great
attraction ^ There are however some doctrinal arguments put forth
(e.g. the reconciliation of the passages relating to the Divine and Human
nature of Christ), but Berkeley generally takes the common doctrines
of the Church as the basis of his instruction, and rarely seems to have
argued in favour of them, as if they needed support. Strong in the faith
of the Catholic Church on all important points, this great writer uses
them as acknowledged among Christians ; and taking them as his
starting-points, he illustrates them, and sometimes confirms them, but
for the most part applies them to Christian practice. At least such is
the impression made on me after an attentive consideration of these
remains of Berkeley, which, I think, form a very precious monument
of his truly Christian and Catholic spirit.

Two addresses delivered by Berkeley in the discharge of his episcopal
duties are added to these Sermons and Skeletons of Sermons. Brief as
they are, they have considerable interest, as forming almost the only
examples now extant of the mode in which he carried on this portion
of his clerical work. One is an address to the candidates for confirma-
tion ; the other the Charge delivered at his primary visitation as Bishop
of Cloync. The former, though very brief, is very clear and explicit in
the doctrines which it is intended to enforce. It describes the privileges
which the Church confers upon its members, but its extreme brevity
precludes his enforcing his practical directions with any power.

The Visitation Charge is also important as a testimony to the con-
dition of Ireland at that time -, in regard to the intercourse between the

' In the conclusion to the Sermon on stj'le of his discourses, which is for the

I Tim. i. 2, preached at Leghorn on Palm most part very calm and unimpassioned.

Sunday, there is a very touching passage - It ought also to be compared with his

relative to the sufferings of our Lord. It Word to the Wise and his Letter to the

forms rather an exception to the general Roman Catholics of Ireland.

Prefatory Note. 597

clergy and the Roman Catholics. His directions to the clergy to seek
opportunities of conversing with their Roman Catholic parishioners on
religious topics, in the hope of converting them, are interesting. The
gentleness and courtesy of his character are quite reflected in the tone
of his Charge, while his sense of the evils of the errors of Romanism and
of its superstitious practices is declared in a manner quite in harmony
with the tone of his other works.

SERMONS.

PREACHED IN [TRINITY] COLLEGE CHAPEL, SUNDAY
EVENING, JANUARY ii, 170^.

2 Tim. I. 10.

Jesus Christ, ivho hath abolished death, and hath brought life and
immortality to light through the gospel.

Whether or no the knowledge of eternal life may be reckoned
among the attainments of some ancient philosophers, I shall not
now enquire. Be that as it will, sure I am the doctrine of life
and immortality was never so current and universal as since the
coming of our blessed Saviour. For though it be granted, which
nevertheless is very hard to conceive, that some few of extraor-
dinary parts and application might, by the unassisted force of
reason, have obtained a demonstrative knowledge of that impor-
tant point- yet those who wanted either leisure or abilities for
making so great and difficult a discovery, which was doubtless the
far greatest part of mankind, must still have remained in the dark :
for, though they who saw farther than other men should tell them
the result of their reasonings, yet he that knows not the premises
could never be certain of the conclusion except his teacher had the
power of working miracles for his conviction. 'Tis therefore evi-
dent that, whatever discoveries of a future state were made by
those that diverted their thoughts that way, how far soever they
might have seen, yet all this light was smothered in their own
bosoms, not a ray to enlighten the rest of mankind till the dawn-
ing of the Sun of Righteousness, who brought life and immortality

Sermon preached at Trinity College, Dublin. 599

to light by the gospel. In discoursing on which words I shall
observe the following method: — ist, I shall consider what effect
this revelation has had on the Christian world; 2ndly, I shall en-
quire how it comes to pass that it has no greater effect on our
lives and conversations; 3rdly, I shall shew by what means it may
be rendered more effectual.

As to the ist point, one would think he had not far to seek for
the effects of so important and universal a revelation — a reve-
lation of eternal happiness or misery, the unavoidable inheritance
of every man, delivered by the Son of God, confirmed by miracles,
and owned by all the professors of Christianity. If some among
the heathen practised good actions on no other view than the
temporal advantages to civil society; if others were found who
thought virtue a reward sufficient for itself; if reason and experi-
ence had long before convinced the world how unpleasant and
destructive vice had been, as well to its votaries as the rest ot
mankind, what man would not embrace a thing in itself so lovely
and profitable as virtue, when recommended by the glorious
reward of life and immortality ? what wretch so obdurate and foolish
as not to shun vice, a thing so hateful and pernicious, when dis-
couraged therefrom by the additional terrors of eternal death and
damnation ? Thus might a man think a thorough reformation of
manners the necessary effect of such a doctrine as our Saviour's.
He may perhaps imagine that men, as soon as their eyes were
opened, would quit all thoughts of this perishing earth, and extend
their views to those new-discovered regions of life and immor-
tality. Thus, I say, might a man hope and argue with himself.
But, alas! upon enquiry all this, I fear, will be found frustrated
hopes and empty speculation.

Let us but look a little into matter of fact. How far, I beseech
you, do we Christians surpass the old heathen Romans in tem-
perance and fortitude, in honour and integrity? Are we less given
to pride and avarice, strife and faction, than our Pagan ancestors ?
With us that have immortality in view, is not the old doctrine of
' Eat and drink, for to-morrow we die,' as much in vogue as ever ?
We inhabitants of Christendom, enlightened with the light of the
Gospel, instructed by the Son of God, are we such shining exam-
ples of peace and virtue to the unconverted Gentile world? and
is it less certain than wonderful that now, when the fulness of time

6oo Sermon preached at

is come, and the light of the Gospel held forth to guide every man
through piety and virtue into everlasting happiness, — I say, is it not
equally evident and strange, that at this time of day and in these
parts of the world men go together by the ears about the things of
this life, and scramble for a little dirt within sight of heaven ?

1 come now to enquire into the cause of this strange blindness
and infatuation of Christians, whence it is that immortality, a
happy immortality, has so small influence, when the vain, transi-
tory things of this life do so strongly aflFect and engage us in the
pursuit of them ? Wherein consists the wondrous mechanism of
our passions, which are set a-going by the small inconsiderable
objects of sense, whilst things of infinite weight and moment are
altogether ineffectual? Did Heaven but kindle in our hearts hopes
and desires suitable to so great and excellent an object, doubtless
all the actions of our lives would evidently concur to the attain-
ment thereof. One could be no longer to seek for the eff^ects of
our Saviour's revelation amongst us. Whoever beheld a Christian
would straightway take him for a pilgrim on earth, walking in the
direct path to heaven. So regardless should he be of the things of
this life, so full of the next, and so free from the vice and cor-
ruption which at present stains our profession. If, then, we can
discover how it comes to pass that our desire of life and immor-
tality is so weak and ineff^ectual, we shall in some measure see
into the cause of those many contradictions which are too con-
spicuous betwixt the faith and practice of Christians, and be able
to solve that great riddle, namely, that men should think infinite
eternal bliss within their reach and scarce do anything for the
obtaining it. Rational desires are vigorous in proportion to the
goodness and, if I may so speak, attainableness of their objects;
for whatever provokes desire does it more or less according as it
is more or less desirable ; and what makes a thing desirable is its
goodness or agrceableness to our nature, and also the probability
there is of our being able to obtain it. For that which is appa-
rently out of our reach affects us not, desire being a spur to
action, and no rational agent directing his actions to what he sees
impossible I know a late incomparable philosopher will have the
present uneasiness the mind feels, which ordinarily is not propor-
tionate to the goodness of the object, to determine the will. But
I speak not of the ordinary brutish appetites of men, but of well-

Trinity College, Dublin. 60 1

grounded rational desires, which, from what has been said, 'tis
plain are in a direct compounded reason of the excellency and
certainty of their objects. Thus, an object with half the g(X)dncss
and double the certainty, and another with half the certainty and
double the goodness, are equally desired; and universally those
lots are alike esteemed wherein the prizes are reciprocally as the
chances. Let us now by this rule try what value we ought to put
on our Saviour's promises, with what degree of zeal and desire we
should in reason pursue those things Jesus Christ has brought to
light by the Gospel. In order whcrcunto it will be proper, ist, to
consider their excellency, and 2dly, the certainty there is of our
obtaining them upon fulfilling the conditions on which they are
promised, ist, then, the things promised by our Saviour are life
and immortality; that is, in the language of the Scriptures, eternal
happiness, a happiness large as our desires, and those desires not
stinted to the few objects we at present receive from some dull
inlets of perception, but proportionate to what our faculties shall
be when God has given the finishing stroke to our nature and made
us fit inhabitants for heaven — a happiness which we narrow-sighted
mortals wretchedly point out to ourselves by green meadows, fra-
grant groves, refreshing shades, crystal streams, and what other
pleasant ideas our fancies can glean up in this vale of misery, but
in vain ; since the Apostle himself, who was caught up into the third
heaven, could give no other than this empty though emphatical de-
scription of it : 'tis what ' eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither
hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.' Now, by the
foregoing rule, the hazard, though never so small and uncertain,
of a good so ineffably, so inconceivably great, ought to be more
valued and sought after than the greatest assurance we can have
of any sublunary good; since in what proportion this good is more
certain than that, in as great, nay, in a much greater proportion
that good is more excellent than this. 'Twill therefore be need-
less to enquire nicely into the second thing which was to be
considered, namely, the certainty there is of the prize, which is
good enough to warrant the laying out all our care, industry, and
affections on the least hazard of obtaining it.

Whatever effect brutal passion may have on some, or thought-
lessness and stupidity on others, yet I beHeve there are none
amongst us that do not at least think it as probable the Gospel

6o2 Sermon preached at

may be true as false. Sure I am no man can say he has two to
one odds on the contrary side. But when life and immortality are
at stake, we should play our part with fear and trembling, though
'twere an hundred to one but we are cheated in the end. Nay, if
there be any, the least prospect of our winning so noble a prize j
and that there is some, none, the beastliest libertine or most
besotted atheist, can deny. Hence 'tis evident that, were our
desires of the things brought to light through the Gospel such as
in strict reason they ought to be, nothing could be more vigorous
and intense, nothing more firm and constant tiian they; and desire
producing uneasiness, and uneasiness action in proportion to itself,
it necessarily follows that we should make life and immortality
our principal business, directing all our thoughts, hopes, and
actions that way, and still doing something towards so noble a
purchase. But since it is too evidently otherwise, since the trifling
concerns of this present life do so far employ us that we can scarce
spare time to cast an eye on futurity and look beyond the grave,
'tis a plain consequence that we have not a rational desire for the
things brought to light by our Saviour, and that because we do not
exercise our reason about them as we do about more trivial con-
cerns. Hence it is the revelation of life and immortality has so
little effect on our lives and conversations; we never think, we
never reason about it. Now, why men that can reason well
enough about other matters, should act the beast and the block
so egregiously in things of highest importance; why they should
prove so deaf and stupid to the repeated calls and promises of
God, there may, I think, besides the ordinary avocations of the
world, the flesh, and the devil, be assigned these two reasons:
ist, we have no determined idea of the pleasures of heaven, and
therefore they may not so forcibly engage us in the contemplation
of them; 2dly, they are the less thought on because we imagine
them at a great distance. As to the ist, 'tis true we can in this
life have no determined idea of the pleasures of the next, and that
because of their surpassing, transcendent nature, which is not
suited to our present weak and narrow faculties. But this me-
thinks should suffice, that they shall be excellent beyond the com-
pass of our imagination, that they shall be such as God, wise,
powerful, and good, shall think fit to honour and bless his family
withal. Would the Almighty inspire us with new faculties, and

Trinity College, Dublin. 603

give us a taste of those celestial joys, there could be no longer
living in this world, we could have no relish for the things of it,
but must languish and pine away with an incessant longing after
the next. Besides, there could be no virtue, no vice j we should
be no longer free agents, but irresistibly hurried on to do or suffer
anything for the obtaining so great felicity. As for the 2d reason
assigned for our neglect of the life to come, namely, that it
appears to be at a great distance from us, I own we are very apt
to think it so, though, for ought that I can see, without any reason
at all. The world we live in may not unfitly be compared to
Alexander the Impostor's temple, as described by Lucian. It had
a fore and a back doo*", and a continual press going in at the one
and out at the other, so there was little stay for anyone to observe
what was doing within. Just so we see a multitude daily crowd-
ing into the world and daily going out of it; we have scarce time
to look about us, and if we were left every one to his own ex-
perience, could know very little either of the earth itself, or of
those things the Almighty has placed thereon, so swift is our
progress from the womb to the grave ; and yet this span of life,
this moment of duration, we are senseless enough to make account
of as if it were longer than even eternity itself. But, granting
the promised happiness be never so far off, and let it appear
never so small, what then ? Is an object in reality little because
it appears so at a distance? And I ask, whether shall a man
make an estimate of things by what they really are in themselves,
or by what they only appear to be ?

I come now to the third and last thing proposed, namely, to show
how our Saviour's revelation of life and immortality may come to
have a greater effect on our lives and conversations. Had we but
a longing desire for the things brought to light by the Gosp-'l, it
would undoubtedly show itself in our lives, and we should thirst
after righteousness as the hart panteth after the water brooks.
Now, to beget in ourselves this zeal and uneasiness for life and
immortality, we need only, as has been already made out, cast
an eye on them, think and reason about them with some degree
of attention. Let any man but open his eyes and behold the
two roads before him — the one leading through the straiglit,
peaceful paths of piety and virtue to eternal life; the other de-
formed with all the crookedness of vice, and ending in everlasting

6o4 Sermon preached at Trinity College^ Dublin.

death, — I say, let a man but look before him and view them
both with a reasonable care, and then choose which he will,
A man taking such a course cannot be mistaken in his choice j
and is not this a small thing to weigh and ponder a little
the proffers of the Almighty ? Would any one propose to us a
bargain that carried with it some prospect of worldly advantage,
we should without doubt think it worth our consideration; and
when the eternal God makes us an offer of happiness, boundless
as our desires and lasting as our immortal souls, — when He
dispatches His well-beloved Son on this momentous message, shall
we remain stupid and inattentive \ and must it be said to our
reproach that life and immortality are pearls before swine? 'Tis
true most people have a peculiar aversion for thinking, but espe-
cially to trouble one's head about another life is much out of
fashion. The world to come takes up little of our thoughts and less
of our conversation. Wealth, pleasure, and preferment make the
great business of our lives ; and we stand on all sides exposed to
the solicitations of sense, which never fail to draw off our thoughts
from remote goods. But be it never so unfashionable, be it never
so painful and laborious a task, he that will enjoy heaven in the
next life must think on it in this; he must break through the
encumbrances of sense and pleasure sometimes to have a serious
thought of eternity, and cast an eye on the recompense of reward.
In short, he that is not resolved to walk blindfold down to hell
must look about him betimes, while he stands upon firm ground,
and from off this present world take a prospect of the next, in
comparison of which the whole earth and all contained therein is,
in the elegant style of a prophet, no more than the drop of a
bucket, the dust of a balance, yea less than nothing.

Grant, we beseech thee. Almighty God, that the words which
we have heard this day with our outward ears may, through Thy
grace, be so grafted inwardly in our hearts, that they may bring
forth in us the fruit of good living, to the honour and praise of Thy
Name ; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and
the fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all evermore.

Scnnou preached at Lef^honi. 605

II.

PREACHED AT LEGHORN, PALM SUNDAY, A.D. .714.

I Tim. I. 2.

This is a faithful saying and ivorthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came
into the ivorld to save sinners.

As there is not any subject on which wc can employ our
thoughts with more advantage and comfort than the life and
sufferings of our blessed Saviour, and the inestimable benefits that
it is in our power to receive thereby, so we ought frequently to
make them the subject of our meditations j especially at this time,
which is appointed by the Church for a peculiar season of con-
trition and repentance, and a devout preparation of ourselves for
the reception of the Holy Sacrament. But that you may clearly
see the necessity and importance of our Saviour's coming into the
world, it will be necessary to reflect on the state in which man-
kind was before his coming amongst them. The whole world was
then comprehended under two general heads of Jews and Gentiles;
and that the wisdom and goodness of God in sending the Messiah
upon earth may be made more manifest unto you, I shall consider
the condition and circumstances of each of these distinctly; and
first of the Gentiles.

By whom we are to understand all those nations that had no
other guides to direct them in the conduct of life and pursuit of
happiness besides reason and common sense, which are otherwise
called the light of nature. They had no inspired writings to
inform them of the being and attributes of God, or of the worth
and immortality of their own souls: no lawgivers to explain to
them that manner of worship by which the Supreme Being was to
be adored: no prophets or apostles to reclaim them from their
evil ways and warn them of the wrath to come, or to encourage
them to a good life by laying before them the infinite and eternal
happiness, which in another world shall be the portion of those
who practise virtue and innocence in this.

It must indeed be owned that the Gentiles might by a due use
of their reason, by thought and study, observing the beauty and

6o6 Scnnon preached at Le^/iorn.

order of the world, and the excellence and profitableness of virtue,
have obtained some sense of a Providence and of Religion ; agree-
ably to which the Apostle saith that the invisible things of God
from the creation of the world are clearly seen, and understood by
the things which are made, even his eternal power and Godhead.
But how few were they who made this use of their reason, or lived
according to it ? Perhaps here and there one among those who
were called Philosophers, while the bulk of mankind being diverted
by the vain pursuits of riches and honours and sensual pleasures,
from cultivating their minds by knowledge and virtue, sunk into
the grossest ignorance, Idolatry and Superstition. Professing
themselves wise they changed the Glory of the incorruptible God
into an image, made like to corruptible man, and to birds and
fourfooted beasts and creeping things. Their Sacred Rites were
polluted with acts of unclcanncss and debauchery ; and Human
Sacrifice often stained the altars erected to their Deities. It
would take up too much time to recount all the extravagant
follies and cruelties which made up the belief and practice of their
religion : as their burning their own children to the God Moloch
in the valley of Hinnom; their adoring oxen and serpents or
inanimate things as the sun and stars, and certain plartts or fruits
of the earth, which things are at this day practised by many
nations where the glorious light of the Gospel has not yet shone.
I shall conclude this account of their idolatry by the following
description of it taken out of the Prophet Isaiah : — ' A man planteth
an ash, and the rain doth nourish it. Then shall it be for a man
to burn: for he will take thereof, and warm himself; yea, he
kindleth it, and baketh bread ; yea, he maketh a god, and wor-
shippeth it ; he maketh it a graven image, and falieth down thereto.
He burneth part thereof in the fire ; with part thereof he eatcth
flesh ; he roasteth roast, and is satisfied : yea, he warmcth himself,
and saith. Aha, I am warm, I have seen the fire : and the residue
thereof he maketh a god, even his graven image : he falieth down
unto it, and worshippeth it, and prayeth unto it, and saith. Deliver
me J for thou art my god. They have not known nor understood :
for he hath shut their eyes, that they cannot see; and their hearts, i
that they cannot understand. And none considereth in his heart, ■
neither is there knowledge nor understanding to say, I have burned
part of it in the fire; yea, also I liave baked bread upon the coals

Sermon preached at Leghorn. 607

hereof; I have roasted flesh, and eaten it: and shall I make the
esidue thereof an abomination ? shall I fall down to the stock of
L tree ? '

In such circumstances as these for a man to declare for free-
hinking, and disengage himself from the yoke of idolatry, were
loing honour to Human Nature, and a work well becoming the
;reat assertors of Reason. But in a Church where our adoration
s directed to the Supreme Being, and (to say the least) where is
lothing in the object or manner of our worship that contradicts
:he light of nature, there, under the pretence of Free-thinking to
ail at the Religious institutions of their country, sheweth an
mdistinguishing mind that mistakes the spirit of opposition for
reedom of thought. But to return.

Suitable to their Religion were the lives of our ancestors : our
incestors I say, who before the coming of our blessed Saviour
nade part of the Gentiles, the rest of the heathen worlds sate in
larkness and the shadow of death. In those days of ignorance
md estrangement from the living God, it is hardly to be conceived
vhat a deluge of licence and iniquity overwhelmed mankind. It
:annot indeed be denied that vice is too common amongst us
low, but, however, virtue is in some reputation. The frequent
denouncing of God's judgments against sinners hath some effect
)n our consciences; and even the reprobate who hath extinguished
n himself all notion of Religion is oft restrained by a sense of
lecency and shame from those actions which are held in abhor-
•ence by all good Christians, whereas in the times of Gentilism,
nen were given up to work uncleanness with greediness. Lust
uid intemperance kiiew no bounds, and our forefathers acted those
■rimes publicly and without remorse from which they apprehended
leither shame nor punishment. St. Paul gives us a catalogue of
;heir crimes when he tells us they ' were filled with all unrighteous-
iiess, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of
!mvy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity ; whisperers, backbiters,
laters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things,
disobedient to parents; without understanding, covenant-breakers,
[A^ithout natural affection, implacable, unmerciful.'

What a frightful picture of our forefathers; but we may still
>ee too much of it among ourselves not to believe it true. Now
when so thick a darkness had covered the world, how expedient

6o8 Sermon preached at Leghorn.

was it that the Sun of Righteousness should arise with healing on
his wings ! When the general state of mankind was so deplorable
how necessary was it that Christ Jesus should come into the world
to save sinners !

And the like necessity of a Saviour will appear also with rela-
tion to the Jews, if we reflect on their state. These were indeed
the chosen people of God, who, as such, had vouchsafed to them
many extraordinary miracles, prophecies, and revelations. They
had a law imparted to them from Heaven, together with frequent
assurances and instances of the Divine protection so long as they
continued in the observance of it. But we must consider in the
first place that the ancient ceremonial Law was a yoke which, as
the Apostle tells the Jews of his time, neither they nor their
fathers were able to bear. Their circumcision, sacrifices, purifi-
cations, abstaining from meats and the like ordinances, were
burdensome and carnal ; such as in themselves could not perfect
or regenerate the soul. And are therefore to be considered as
having a further view, inasmuch as they were types and prefigura-
tions of the Messiah and the Spiritual Religion that he was to
introduce into the world. And as proofs that this ritual way of
worship accommodated to the carnal and stifFnecked Jews was not
the most acceptable to God, there occur several passages even in
the Old Testament. Thus, for example, in the Prophet Isaiah, ' To
what purpose is the multitude of your sacrifices unto me, saith the
Lord ? I am full of the fat of your burnt offerings of rams and of
the fat of the fed beasts. Bring no more oblations, incense is an
abomination unto me. The new moons and sabbaths I cannot
away with. Cease to do evil ; learn to do well. Seek judgment,
relieve the oppressed ; judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.'

But, secondly, the moral Law, was not arrived to its full per-
fection under the dispensation of the Jews. They were borne with
on many points upon the account of the hardness of their hearts.
The adhering to one and the same wife, the forgiving our enemies
and loving our neighbours as ourselves, are precepts peculiar to
Christianity ^ To the wisdom of God it did not seem convenient
that the Law at first proposed to the Jews, should enjoin the most
heroic strains of charity or the height and purity of Christian virtue j
but rather by morals less severe, and figures of things to come, to

' [This statement requires modification. See Lev. xi.\. l8.]

Sermon preached at Leghorn. 609

prepare their minds for the more perfect and spiritual doctrine of
the Gospel. In regard to which we may say with the Apostle,
that the Law was a schoolmaster to bring the Jews to Christ,

Thirdly^ the knowledge of a future state was not so clearly and
fully revealed to the Jews. These hopes do not generally seem to
have reached beyond the grave. Conquests over their enemies,
peace and prosperity at home, a land flowing with milk and honey.
These and such like temporal enjoyments were the rewards they
expected of their obedience ; as on the other hand the evils com-
monly denounced against them were plagues, famines, captivities,
and the like. Pursuant to which, we find the Resurrection to have
been a controverted point among the Jews, maintained by the
Pharisees, and denied by the Sadducees. So obscure and dubious
was the revelation of another world before life and immortality
were brought to light by the Gospel.

We should further consider that it was in vain to expect
salvation by the works of the Law ; since it was impossible for
human nature to perform a perfect unsinning obedience to it.
We are told that even the righteous man falls seven times in
a day. Such is the frailty of our nature, and so many and various
are the temptations which on all sides assault us from the world,
the flesh, and the devil, that we cannot live without sinning at
least in word and thought. And the unavoidable reward of sin
was death. Do this and live was the condition of the old cove-
nant; and seeing that by the corruption of our nature derived
from our first parents we were unable to fulfil that condition, we
must without another covenant have been all necessarily included
under the sentence of death. Agreeably to which St. Paul saith,
' As many as are of the works of the Law are under the curse.
For it is written, Cursed is every one that continueth not in all
the things that are written in the book of the Law to do them.-*

You see, from what has been said, the miserable forlorn con-
dition of all mankind, both Jews and Gentiles, in former ages ;
and we should still have continued in the same state of sin and
estrangement from God, were it not that ' the day-spring from on
high hath visited us' — were it not for Him of whom Isaiah fore-
told : ' The Gentiles shall come to Thy light, and the kings of the
Gentiles to Thy rising ' — the ever blessed Son of God, who came
down upon earth to be our Teacher, our Redeemer, our Mediator.

VOL. IV. R r

6 1 o Sermon preached at Leghorn.

[Well, therefore, may we be filled with gladness and cry out with
the prophet, 'Sing, O heaven, and rejoice, O earth, and break
forth into singing, O ye mountains ! for the Lord hath comforted
His people and will have mercy on His afflicted.'] How just
an occasion have we here of comfort and joy. What if we
were by nature ignorant and brutish, we have now the glorious
light of the Gospel shining among us, and instead of worshipping
stocks and stones are brought to adore the living God? What
if we are encompassed with snares and afflictions in this present
world ? We have the grace of God and the blessed hope of eternity
to strengthen and support us. In fine, what if we have merited
the wrath of God and vengeance of heaven by our sins and trans-
gressions, since this is a faithful saying and worthy of all accep-
tation that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners ?
which words, that you may the better understand, it will be
necessary to explain unto you. The second point pressed, viz.
how and in what sense Jesus Christ promotes the salvation of
sinners. And this He has done in four respects. Firstly, by His
preaching; secondly, by His example; thirdly, by His death;
and fourthly, by His intercession.

First, I say, by His preaching. As there is nothing which
renders us so acceptable to God as a good life, which consists in
the practice of virtue and holiness, it was highly necessary, in
order to put us in a capacity of salvation, that our duty should be
plainly laid before us, and recommended in the most powerful
and persuasive manner. This has been effectually performed by
our Lord and His apostles, who went about preaching the Word of
God, and exhorting all men to forsake their evil ways and follow
after righteousness, to become just and sober, and chaste and
charitable; in a word, to discharge all the several offices and
duties of life in a blameless and exemplary manner. Jew and
Gentile are equally called upon in the Gospel, and morality is
there advanced to a degree of purity and perfection beyond either
the Law of Moses or the precepts of the wisest of the heathen.
And that no motives or engagements to the observation of it
may be wanting, we have, on the one hand, the highest and most
inestimable rewards, and on the other hand, the sorest and most
terrific punishments proposed to us. But as example is oftentimes
found no less instructive than precept, and to the end all methods

Sermofi preached at Lei^/ioni. 6 1 i

might be employed to rescue man from the slavery of sin and
death, our blessed Lord condescended to take upon Him human
nature, that He might become a living example of all those
virtues which we are required to practise. His whole life was
spent in acts of charity, meekness, patience, and every good work.
He has not only told us our duty, but also showed us how U) per-
form it, having made Himself a perfect pattern of h(jliness for our
imitation. And this is the second method whereby Ciirist con-
tributes to save sinners.

In the next place we are to observe, that as our blessed Saviour
omitted no instance of love and goodness to mankind, not only
His life, but His death also, was of the last importance to our
redemption. Such is the infinite purity and holiness of Almighty
God, that we could not hope for any reconciliation with Him, so
long as our souls were stained by the filthiness and pollution of
sin. But neither could rivers of the blood of rams and bulls,
or of our own tears, have been sufficient to wash out those stains.
It is in the unalterable nature of things that sin be followed by
punishment. For crimes cried aloud to Heaven for vengeance,
and the justice of God made it necessary to inflict it, [Behold,
then, mankind at an infinite distance from Heaven, and happi-
ness oppressed with a load of guilt, and condemned to a punish-
ment equal to the guilt, which was infinitely heightened and
aggravated by the Majesty of the offended God ! Such was our
forlorn, hopeless condition,] when lo ! the Lamb of God, the Eter-
nal Son of the Father, clothed Himself with Hesh and blood that He
may tread the wine-press of the wrath of God, and offer I limsclf
a ransom for us. He sheds His own blood that He may purge away
our sins, and submits to the shameful punishment of the Cross,
that by His death He may open to us the d(X)r to eternal life.

Lastly, having broke asunder the bands of death, and triumphed
over the grave. He ascended to Heaven, where He now sitteth at
the right hand of God, ever making intercession for us. To this
purpose speaks the apostle to the Hebrews, in the following
manner: — 'Christ Jesus, because He continueth for ever, hath
an unchangeable priesthood. Wherefore, also, He is able to save
them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him, seeing He
ever liveth to make intercession for them.' And should not this
be an occasion of unspeakable comfort to us, that we have the Son

R r i

6 1 2 Sermon preached at Leghorn.

of God for our advocate, even His ever-blessed Son, whom He
hath appointed Heir of all things, who hath so great love for men
that He never ceases to plead our cause and solicit our pardon.
And this is the fourth way whereby our Lord makes good the
words of my text, that this is a faithful saying and worthy of all
acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.
It appears, then, from what hath been said, that sinners shall be
saved j and, if so, may we not sin on in hopes that we shall go to
Heaven when we can sin no longer? The lives of too many
Christians would' persuade us they entertain such thoughts as these.
But let us not deceive ourselves, and abuse the method which the
good providence of God designed for our salvation, cross the gra-
cious designs of Heaven, and treasure up to ourselves vengeance
against the day of wrath. Can we be so foolish as to think our
holy Redeemer led a life of spotless innocence upon earth, in order
to procure us a licence to taste the pleasures of sin ? Must He be
humble that we may be proud and arrogant? Must He live in
poverty that we may make a god of riches, and heap them together
by avarice and extortion ? Shall the Son of God give His body to
be crucified that we may pamper our flesh in drunkenness and
gluttony ? Or can we hope that He will without ceasing intercede
with the Father in behalf of those wretches who, instead of pray-
ing for this mercy at His hands, are perpetually blaspheming His
name with oaths and curses ?

But you will say, are not these sinners saved ? I answer, it is
true sinners are saved. But not those who tread under foot the
Son of God, and do despite to the Spirit of Grace. Christ Jesus
came into the world to save repenting sinners. If we will be
saved, we must do something on our parts also, and, without rely-
ing altogether an the sufferings and merits of Christ, work out our
own salvation with fear and trembling.

The good tidings of the Gospel amount, in short, to no more
than this : that we shall be saved if we repent and believe ! But
we must not suppose that this repentance consists only in a sorrow |l
for sin • there must be a forsaking of our evil ways, a reformation '
and amendment of life. Neither must it be thought that the faith
here required is an empty, notional belief. ' Thou believest,' saith
St. James^ 'thou doest well: the devils also believe and tremble;
but wilt thou know, O vain man, that faith without works is dead.'

Sermon preached at Leghorn. 6 1

The faith of a true Christian must be a lively faith that sanctifies
the heart, and shows itself in the fruits of the Spirit.

By nature we are vessels of wrath polluted with the original
corruption of our first parents and our own manifold transgressions,
whereas by the grace of God, showed forth in Christ Jesus, our
sins are purged away, and our sincere, though imperfect en-
deavours are accepted. But without these sincere endeavours,
without this lively Faith and unfeigned repentance, to hope for
salvation is senseless. We cannot be guilty of a more fatal
mistake than to think the Christian warfare a thing to be per-
formed with ease and indifference. It is a work of diflficulty that
requires our utmost care and attention, and must be made the
main business of our lives. We must pluck out the right eye, cut
off the right hand, that is, subdue our darling affections, cast o^
our beloved and bosom sin, if we have a mind to enter into the
kingdom of heaven. He that will partake of the benefits of the
Gospel, must endeavour to live up to the precepts of it — to be pure
and innocent in mind and manners, to love God with all his
heart, and with all his strength, and his neighbour as himself.
There must be no hatred, no malice, no slandering, no envy, no
strife in a regenerate Christian. But all love, joy, peace, long-
suffering, gentleness, goodness, meekness, the most ardent and
diffusive charity, ever abounding in good works, and promoting his
neighbour's interest as his own. You see how great obligations
our profession lays upon us. How far short of these do the per-
formances of most men fall ! What, I beseech you, docs the
piety of a modern Christian commonly amount to ? He is indeed
content to retain the name of that profession into which he was
admitted by baptism, but without taking any care to fulfil his
baptismal vow, or, it may be, without so much as ever thinking of
it. He may, perhaps, in a fit of the spleen, or sickness, or old
age, when he has no longer any ability or temptation to sin,
entertain some slight thoughts of turning to God while the strength
and flower of his age is spent in the service of Satan. Or some-
times he may give a penny to a poor naked wretch that he may
relieve himself from the pain of seeing a miserable object-. On

^ This is altered on the opposite page lie service of the Church, if, when we lift up

thus: ' Neither must we rely on outward per- our hands and eyes to God, our hearts are

formances, without an inward and sincere far from Him ?'
piety. What avails it to frequent the pub-

6 1 4 Sermon preached at Leghorn.

a Sunday, in compliance with the custom of our country, we dress
ourselves and go to church. But what is it that folks do in church ?
When they have paid their compliments to one another, they lift
up their hands and eyes to God, but their hearts are far from Him !
Prayers and thanksgivings are now over, without zeal or fervour,
without a sense of our own littleness and wants^ or the majesty of that
God whom we adore. The warmest and most Ssraphic hymns
are pronounced with a cold indifference, and sermons heard with-
out one resolution of being the better for them, or putting one
word of them in practice. God declares that He has no pleasure
in the death of a sinner, but had rather that he would turn from
his wickedness and live. Why then will ye die ? ' I have spread
out my hands, saith the Lord, all the day to a rebellious people, a
people that provoketh me continually to my face. I have spread
out my hands.' God, you see, is desirous and earnest for our con-
version and ready to receive us ! Why then should we be neg-
ligent in what concerns our salvation ? And shall all those
methods which God has used to bring us to Him be in vain ?
Shall we frustrate the mission and sufferings of His well-beloved
son ? ' The infinite pangs and sufferings that He underwent in the
work of our redemption should, one would think, soften the most
obdurate heart, and dispose us to suitable returns of love and duty.
The prophet Isaiah, several hundred years before our Saviour's
birth, gives the following lively description of His sufferings : —
* He was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely He hath
borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows : yet we did esteem Him
stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But He was wounded for
our transgressions. He was bruised for our iniquities : the chastise-
ment of our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we are
healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned
every one to his own way ; and the Lord hath laid on Him the
iniquity of us all. He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He
opened not His mouth : He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so He openeth not His
mouth.' And does it seem a small thing to you that the blessed
son of God, by whom He made the worlds, who is the brightness
of His glory and the express image of His person, should quit the
happy mansions of Heaven to come down upon earth and take
upon Himself the punishment of our sins ? That He who could

Sermon preached at Leghorn. 615

eommand legions of angels should, for our sakes, submit to the
insults and scorn of the lowest of mankind ? Figure to yourselves
His head dishonoured with an ignominious crown of thorns, His
face spit upon, and buffeted by an impious and profane rabble !
His flesh torn with scourges. His hands and feet pierced with
nails, blood and water streaming from His side ! His ears
wounded with taunts and reproaches ! And that mouth which
uttered the glad tidings of salvation, filled with gall and vinegar ! in
fine, figure to yourselves. His sacred body hung upon a cross, there to
expire in lingering torments between thieves and malefactors !
But who can figure to himself, or what imagination is able to com-
prehend the unutterable agony that He felt within when the cup of
the fury of God was poured out upon His soul, and His spirit
laboured under the guilt of all mankind ? Can we think on these
things, which are all the effects of our sins, and at the same time
be untouched with any sense or compunction for them ? Shall the
sense of those crimes that made our Saviour sweat drops of blood
be unable to extort a single tear from us? When the earth
quakes, and the rocks are rent, the skies are covered with dark-
ness, and all nature is troubled at the passion of the Lord of Life,
shall man alone remain stupid and insensible ?

But if we are not generous and grateful enough to be affected
with the sufferings of our Saviour, let us, at least, have some
regard to our own, and bethink ourselves in this our day of the
heavy punishment that awaits every one of us who continues in a
course of sin ! Let us bethink ourselves that in a few days the
healthiest and bravest of us all shall lie mingled with the common
dust ! and our souls be disposed of by an irreversible decree, that
no tears, no humiliation, no repentance, can avail on the other
side of the grave. But it is now in our power to avoid the tor-
ments of the place where the worm dieth not, and the fire is
not quenched, provided that we repent of our sins, and, for the
time to come, 'denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, wc live
soberly and godly in this present world, looking for that blessed
hope and the glorious appearance of the great God and our Saviour
Jesus Christ, who gave Himself for us that He may redeem us
from all iniquity, and purify unto Himself a peculiar people
zealous of good works.'

That all we here present may be partakers of this redemption,

6 1 6 Sermon preached at Leghorn.

and numbered among this peculiar people, God, of His infinite
mercy, grant ; to whom be ascribed all honour, praise, power, and
dominion, now and for evermore !

III.

PREACHED AT LEGHORN I [NO DATE.]

St. John xiii. 35.
By this shall all men knoiv that ye are my disciples, if ye hanje love one to another.

To a man who considers things with candour and attention
there are not wanting on all sides invincible proofs of the divinity
of the Christian religion. So many prophecies accomplished, so
many and so stupendous miracles wrought in the eyes of the
world, such a constant uninterrupted tradition sealed with the
blood of so many thousand martyrs, such a wonderful spread and
propagation of it without human force or artifice, and against
the most powerful opposition from the subtilty and rage of its
adversaries : these things, I say, with the sublimity of its doctrines
and the simplicity of its rites, can leave not a doubt of its coming
from God in a mind not sullied with sin, not blmded with pre-
judice, and not hardened with obstinacy.

But among all the numerous attestations to the divinity of our
most holy Faith, there is not any that carries with it a more
winning conviction than that which may be drawn from the
sweetness and excellency of the Christian morals. There runs
throughout the Gospels and Epistles such a spirit of love, gentle-
ness, charity, and good-nature, that as nothing is better calculated
to procure the happiness of mankind, so nothing can carry with
it a surer evidence of its being derived from the common Father
of us all. Herein that paternal love of God to men is visible,
that mutual charity is what we are principally enjoined to practise.
He doth not require from us costly sacrifices, magnificent temples,
or tedious pilgrimages, but only that we should love one another.
This is everywhere recommended to us in the most practical

^ Preached at Leghorne. . . . Brother Henry Berkeley.

Sermon preached at Leghorn. 6 1 7

and earnest manner both by our Saviour and His apostles. And
when our blessed Lord had spent His life upon earth in acts of
charity and goodness, and was going to put a period to it by the
most amazing instance of love to mankind that was ever shown,
He leaves this precept as a legacy to His disciples, ' A new com-
mandment I give unto you that you love another, as I have loved
you that you also love one another. By this shall all men know
that you are my disciples, if you have love one to another.' Mark
with what earnestness and emphasis our Lord inculcates this
commandment. In the compass of a few verses He repeats it
thrice. He invites us by His own example to the practice of it,
and to bind it on our conscience makes our obedience in this
point the mark of our calling. ' By this,' says He, ' shall all men
know that you are my disciples, if you have love one to another.'
In treating of which words I shall observe this method : —

First, I shall endeavour to make you sensible of the nature and
importance of this duty j

Secondly, I shall lay before you the good effects it is attended
with when duly practised ; and, in the last place, I shall add
some further considerations to persuade you to the observation
of it.

First, then, I am to show the nature and importance of this
duty. If you are minded duly to put in practice this evangelical
virtue of charity, you must preserve and cherish in your minds
a warm affectionate love towards your neighbours. It will not
suffice that you have an outward civility and complaisance for
I each other; this may be good breeding, but there is something
more required to make you good Christians. There must be an
inward, sincere, disinterested affection that takes root in the
heart and shows itself in acts of kindness and benevolence. ' My
little children/ saith St. John, Met us not love in word but in
deed and truth.'

In the Gospel use of the word we are all brothers, and wc must
live together as becomes brethren. Is a poor Christian naked
or hungry, you must in proportion to your ability be ready to
cloath and feed him; 'for,' says the apostle, 'whoso hath this
world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up
his bowels of compassion from him, how dwcllcth the love of
God in him ?' Does your brother labour under any bodily infirmity,

6 1 8 Sermon preached at Leghorn.

or is he likely to incur a danger when it is in your power to re-
lieve or protect him, you must do it cheerfully without grudging
the trifling expense or trouble it may put you to, for ' great is
your reward in heaven/ Does he take ill courses, does he harden
himself in habits of sin, is he led astray by the conversation and
example of wicked men, is he remiss in observing the ordinances
of religion, or does he show a contempt of sacred things j * restore
such a one in the spirit of meekness, considering thyself, lest
thou also be tempted. Bear ye one another's burdens, and so
fulfil the law of Christ.' When your neighbour is in flourishing
circumstances you should rejoice at his prosperity, and instead
of looking on him with an envious eye, be well pleased to see
him thrive in this world and reap the fruits of an honest industry.
Or in case his affairs take an unhappy turn, you should be
generous enough to feel another's suflPerings, and employ your
credit or interest to support the sinking fortune of an honest
man. Lastly, instead of taking a diabolical pleasure in hearing
the faults of other men aggravated or blazed abroad, you must be
delighted to hear their virtues celebrated and placed in a public
light for the encouragement and imitation of others. We should
be slow to believe, displeased to hear, and always averse from
propagating any scandalous stories to the disparagement of our
neighbours. If they are false to spread or countenance them is
the highest injustice, and if they are true it may be called the
highest cruelty. It is not doing as you would be done by to draw
the secret failings of your neighbours into the full view of the
world ; it is a barbarous, savage joy that you take in discovering
his sins and imperfections ; it is a cruelty not only to him but
likewise to other men, inasmuch as vicious examples made public
strengthen the party of sinners, spread the contagion of vice, and
take oflT from the horror of it. And yet by a base malignity of
temper, men are for the most part better pleased with satyr than
panegyric, and they can behold with much greater satisfaction
the reputation of another stab'd and torn by the venemous'* tongues
of slanderers and detractors than sett* off to advantage by the
recital of his good actions.

It were an endless task to lay before you all the passages in the
New Testament where this duty of charity is recommended to our

Sermon preached at Leghorn. 6 1 9

practice j it is in every page insisted on as the principal, the
essential, the distinguishing part of the Christian religion. It
is represented as the great scope and design of our Saviour and
His apostles preaching in the world. 'For this,' says St. John,
'is the message that you have heard from the beginning, that ye
should love one another.' It is sett forth as the sum and perfec-
tion of the law. Thus Saint Paul says to the Romanes, ' He that
loveth another hath fulfilled the law.' And our blessed Lord Him-
self hath declared unto us that on the love of God and our neigh-
bour hang all the law and the prophets. Certainly 'tis inculcated
and bound upon the conscience as that without which all the
spiritual gifts and performances are of no effect.

Though you could speak with the tongues of men and angels,
though you had the gift of prophecy and understood all mysteries
and all knowledge, and though you had all faith so that you could
remove mountains, and have no charity, if you will believe the
apostle you are nothing. Nay, though you give all your goods
to feed the poor, and though you give your body to be burned,
and have not charity, it profiteth nothing. Numberless are the
like passages in the holy Scripture which enforce this duty in the
strongest and most urgent terms. How careful then ought we
to be to understand this main point, and how diligent to put it
in practice 5.

This charity, without which it is vain to hope for salvation,
is understood by too many to consist only in bestowing some
trifling part of their fortune on their poor neighbours, which in
the expenses of the year is never felt. But by the words last cited
from St. Paul you may see that it is possible for a man to give
all his goods to the poor and yet want charity. That indeed is
a laudable part or rather effect of charity, but it does not complete
the entire nature of it. To the end you may not be mistaken
in this, take the following description of it from the same inspired
author : ^ Charity suffereth long, and is kind ; charity envieth not j
charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself
unseemly^ seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh

' On the opposite page of the MS. there of charity, it nevertheless cannot he denied

is the following passage, without any mark to be a part or branch thereof, or rather an

of reference : — ' But altho' the giving of our outward and visible effect of that inward

goods to the poor be, not that which alone grace which is the life of a true [member of

constitutes and comprehends the true nature Christ's mystical body] Christian.

620 Sermon p7^eached at Leghorn,

no evil, rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
beareth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.' What
then shall we say of those Christians who envy the prosperity
of other men, who take fire at the least provocation, and are so
far from suffering long, that they are for revenging the smallest
injury with death, and cannot have satisfaction for a rash word
till they have spilled the blood of him that spoke it. In fine, what
shall I think of that censorious humour^ that austere pride, that
sullen, unsociable disposition which some people mistake for
religion ; whereas, on the contrary, gentleness, good-nature, and
humanity are so far from being inconsistent with the true spirit
of religion, that they are enjoined as the indispensable duty of
all who call upon the name of Christ.

As men are very apt to flatter themselves that God is to be
put off with any slight performance of duty, they think that so
long as they do not rob or murder or swear their neighbour out
of his life, there is nothing more required in order to make them
charitable. How charitable are ye that are so jealous of your own
interests, you that are so punctilious in point of honor and
freedom, you that are thus pleased with scandal, that suck in with
delight every idle report that tends to discredit or blast the
reputation of your neighbour, that rejoice in any failings and are
[never happier than ?] that at the expense of one another. Hear
what St. James saith, ' If any man among you seem to be religious
and bridleth not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this
man's religion is vain.' And if injurious words are certain marks
of a reprobate mind, how much more so are bloody quarrels, vexa-
tious [habits ?], with all those hellish contrivances to supplant
and destroy each other which we see daily practised in the world ?

As men are never wanting to excuse ill actions and palliate
their faults with one pretext or other, I doubt not it is very
possible some among you make [may] think it a sufficient excuse
for calumny and slander that it is used only to pass away the time,
for mirth's sake, and now and then to season conversation. But
know, O Christian ! that the mirth you find in hearing and telling
malicious stories, in magnifying every little fault of your neigh-
bour, and putting the worst interpretation on all his actions,
is a mirth unbecoming your profession, it is inconsistent with
that charity without which you cannot be saved, and however you

Sermon preached at Leghorn. 621

may do these things in jest, you will be punished for them in
earnest.

It may perhaps be pretended as an excuse for the want of
charity, that you have to do with men of ill natures, of rough and
untractable tempers, and who have no charity themselves for other
men. But what says our Saviour, ' If you love them which love
you, what reward have you, do not even the publicans the same ?'
And surely it is but just to expect that you who are instructed
by the example and precepts of the Son of God, who are animated
with the blessed hopes of eternity, who are delivered from the
power of darkness, and called to be partakers of the inheritance
of the saints in light, should practise a higher strain of virtue than
publicans and heathens who are destitute of all these advantages ?
But others make free with your reputation, or have injured you
in your estate or person, and it is reasonable you should make
reprisals. But consider, O Christian, whether it be more reason-
able in such a case by obeying the uneasy, sinful motions of anger
and revenge to expose yourselves to the wrath of Almighty God,
or by laying hold of that fair opportunity which is given you to
put in practice these Christian virtues of meekness, patience,
forgiving injuries, and returning good for evil ; turning the de-
signed injuries of an enemy into the greatest blessings that could
befall you.

If we would behave ourselves as becomes the disciples of Christ,
we must open and enlarge our hearts towards the whole mass
of mankind. 'Ye have heard that it hath been said. Love thy
neighbour, and hate thine enemy.' Our Lord says, ' Love your
enemies.' And if we ought to love our enemies, whom ought we
not to love ? We must therefore above all things be sure to
preserve in our souls a constant universal benevolence which
extends itself to all the sons of men. Our charity must not be
limited to any sect or party j Turk and Jew, infidel and idolater,
and much more the several subdivisions of Christians are to be
the object of our love and good wishes. It is the unhappiness and
reproach of Christendom that we are crumbled into so many sects
and parties ^ but whatever grounds or pretences we may have for
keeping at a distance from each other in point of opinion, yet
for heaven's sake let us be united in the bands of love and charity.
Let us not upon the [ground ?] of controverted notions transgress

62 2 Sermon preached at Leghorn.

and trample under foot the most unquestioned fundamentals of re-
ligion. In fine, let us carefully distinguish between the sentiments
and the person of our neighbour, and while we condemn the one
be sure that we love the other; ever remembering that charity
is the principal duty of a Christian, without which all other
pretensions to purity of faith or sanctity of life avail nothing
at all.

And, as difference in opinion can never justify an uncharitable
conduct towards those who differ from us, so neither can difference
of interests. My neighbour rivals me in point of riches or honor,
he aims at the same employment or carries on the same trade
that I do, or there is some difference between us in point of
money. In fine his prosperity interferes with mine. What then !
shall I therefore swell with malice, envy, and discontent, and
instead of being a child of God, transform myself into a fiend
of hell ? We must by all means mortify and subdue that base
principle of self-love whose views are always turned inwards,
which, instead of prompting us to good offices towards our neigh-
bour, will not allow us to have good wishes to any but ourselves.
It is interest that sets the world together by the ears, that makes
us break (?) with our bosom friends, that fills our hearts with
jealousy and disquiet ; no personal merit, no ties of consanguinity,
no past obligations, are strong enough to oppose the resolutions
that it inspires. So long therefore as that continues the governing
principle of our lives and actions, we cannot hope to be any great
proficients in the necessary and essential duty of charity. Hence
we must learn to wean ourselves from our self-interest, or rather
learn wherein our true interest consists.

And this leads me to the second point proposed, namely, to
show the good offices that charity is attended with, and how much
it conduceth to the interest of those who practise it.

However mistaken, men may be too apt to place their chiefest
interest in the slight pleasures and transient enjoyments of this
life, in the gratification of some passion, or the gaining of some
temporal advantage, yet a man who considers things with any
fairness or impartiality will be easily convinced that his chief
interest consists in obeying Almighty God, in conforming his life
and actions to the will and command of his Creator who first gave
him being and still continues to preserve it, whose free gift are

Ser^non preached at Leghor^i. 623

all the good things he can enjoy, and who has promised to reward
our obedience in this life with eternal happiness hereafter".

But because the spiritual nature of God^ though most near and
immediately operating on our souls and bodies, is yet invisible
to our senses, and because the riches of that place where there
is no moth nor rust, and where thieves do not break through and
steal, are placed at a distance from our present state, and that
men are more powerfully influenced by things which are present ami
sensible, 1 shall therefore, waiving all other considerations, apply
myself to consider the advantages which the practice of charity
is attended with, and how much it conduces to the happiness of
men in this present state.

The good effects of charity may be considered either with
respect to public communities of men, or with respect to private
persons. As to the first, the advantages of an amiable corre-
spondence between different nations are plainly to be seen in
traffic and commerce whereby the product of each particular soil
is communicated to distant countries, useful inventions are made
common and flourish, and men mutually supply the wants of each
other. But when the spirit of ambition or revenge begins to
operate, when jealousy of each other's wealth and power divides
nations and breaks the bonds of charity, then all those advantages
are interrupted, and men instead of promoting each other's benefit,
are employed in destroying one another. Whole provinces are
laid waste j cities, palaces, and churches, the work of many ages,
are in an instant demolished and burnt to the ground : thousands
of widows and orphans are made in one day ; and he who makes
the greatest havock of his fellow-Christians is esteemed most
worthy of renown and honor. After an infinity of rapes, murders,
rapines, sacrileges, when fire and sword have spent their rage,
and are glutted with human blood, the dreadful scene often ends
in plague or famine, as the natural consequences of war. But,
alas! we can only bewail these things without any hopes of
reforming them. Tne commands of God are on all sides forgotten,
and when two armies are on the point of engaging, a man would
be laughed at who should put them in mind of our Saviour's pre-
cept, 'By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if
ye have love one to another.'

" On the opposite side of the page.

624 Sermon preached at L eghorn.

But although all orders of men are involved in these public
calamities, yet few there are in whose power it is to remedy or
prevent them, whereas it is in the power of every one of us to
avoid those infinite mischiefs which arise in private life from a
defect of charity.

As different countries are by their respective products fitted to
supply each other's wants, so the allwise providence of God hath
ordered that different men are endowed with various talents,
whereby they are mutually enabled to assist and promote the
happiness of one another. Thus one has health and strength of
body, another enjoys the faculties of his mind in greater perfection ;
one hath riches, another hath learning. This man is fitted for
a public station, that for the oeconomy of a private life. One. man
is skilled in this art or profession, another in that. [Note to say
that in many instances the single act, industry, or power of every
one is ineffectual when the united endeavours of many might
avail.] There are in the various qualifications panics,

occasions by which a man is rendered capable to give or receive
assistance from his neighbour. Hence it is that men find it
necessary to unite in friendships and societies, to do mutual good
oflRccs and carry on the same designs in harmony -and concert.
We relieve one another in distress, we bear with each other's
infirmities, we study to promote the advantage of each other ; that
is, in our Saviour's phrase, 'we have love one to the other.' And
so long as we continue thus disposed peace and plenty abound,
families live comfortably together, our affairs thrive and flourish
in the world, which gives a blessing to our endeavours ; every one
finds his own interest in advancing that of his neighbour.

Whereas the reverse of this happy state must certainly be ex-
pected when men of ill natures and uncharitable tempers are
always [envying ?] the prosperity and thwarting the designs of each
other, where men endeavour to raise their own fortunes and
reputations by destroying those of their neighbours, and instead
of sweet and friendly conversation entertain one another with
satyr and invectives. Take a view of the greatest evils that afflict
mankind, and you will find that they spring from the want of
charity. What factions and cabals, what fierce ments, what

dire^ revengeful ruptures in families, [what disagree] ments be-
tween friends and neighbours take their rise from source.

Sermon preached at Leghorn. 6 2 5

It is not for nothing that our blessed Saviour was so instant in
recommending the of charity by His preaching and example ;

it is not for nothing that the holy apostles insist in almost every
page of their epistles upon charity as the principal of Christian
virtues, the mark of our calling, the distinguishing badge of our
profession. It is for want of this that we see so much poverty,
so much care, so much sorrow, so much bloodshed in tlie world.
It is for want of this that when we have made peace at home,
we worry and destroy each other at home j that those which have
escaped the [perils of] a war are often thrown over, and the

blood which remained unspilt by the enemies of our country is
too often poured out to satiate the revenge of a countryman and
a neighbour. But, alas! we can only bewail thcs-' things without
any hope of reforming them; and when two Christians are on the
point of sacrificing each other's lives to a private pique, he would
be laughed at who should put them in mind of our Saviou'.'s saying,
'By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if you love
one another.'

It is most certain that the practice of any vice or the com-
mission of any moral crime is attended with immediate punish-
ment in this life. The infinitely wise providence of God hath
joined moral and [physical ?] evil together. Some inward uneasiness
of mind, some outward pain of body, severe loss in reputation or
fortune, or the like, is visibly annexed to sin, to deter men from
the practice of it. This and the [vengeance?] go to [show]
the sinner both here an what he is to expect hereafter.

How true this is with regard to uncharitableness is partly [seen]
from what has been already, of the outward calamities, both public
and private, which it is attended with, and it will be more so
if we consider the inward uneasiness of those passions which are
opposite to charity. H )w painfully docs avarice vex and corrode
the soul ! What a knawing [gnawing] anguish breaks the slum-
bers and palls all the enjoyments of an envious man. How is
it possible that he should eat his bread with pleasure when mor-
tified and disappointed at every good event that befalls his neigh-
bours. Or can there be any joy, any repose in a mind under
the visitation of rage, or that feels the cruel appetite of revenge,
or is ever haunted with ill wishes to others or just fears for itself.
There is not surely in nature a more wretched stale than that

VOL. IV. s s

626 Sermon preached at Leghorn.

of a perverse, ill-tempered, uncharitable man; he is always upon
the rack; his heart is a perpetual prey to the most restless and
tormenting passions. But, on the other hand, can there be any
state of mind more happy and delightful than that of the charitable
person ? He looks on mankind as his friends, and is therefore
so far from being mortified, that he rejoices at their prosperity,
and reckons it an addition to his own good fortune. As he wishes
no harm to his neighbour, so he hath hopes of being relieved or
assisted by them in any exigence. Every act of charity and bene-
ficence carries its own reward with it — a sense of pleasing and
of being acceptable to men, together with a secret joy flowing
from the approbation of a good conscience, besides all which there
is a certain peculiar pleasure and [charm] that is the natural result
of a kind and generous behaviour. It is not easy to say whether
a sweet, mild, and gentle disposition contributes more to the
[joy] and satisfaction of our neighbours or to our own private
tranquillity and delight, since as the opposite passions rufHe and
discompose, so charity and the graces that attend it soothe and
rejoice the soul : to be free from anger, envy, and revenge, to
be always in good humour, to delight in doing good to mankind,
is the height of happiness upon earth, and approaches the nearest
to that of the saints in heaven '^.

[I come now to the third thing, which was to add some further
reflections to persuade you to the offices of charity.]

After what has been advanced it may seem needless to [insist]
on any further motives in order to persuade you to the practice
of a virtue which, as it is the most necessary and substantial part
of religion, so it is the most directly calculated for the advantage
both of public communities and private men. What possible
pretence can you have for not complying with an injunction so

' On the opposite page of the MS. there this scholium, or perhaps intended addition

occurs the following observation ; — ' The to his sermon, exactly as it appears with the

whole system of rational beings may be corrections. The words in brackets were

considered as one family or body politic ; struck out by Bishop Berkeley : —
and Providence, intending the good of the ' The whole system of rational beings may

whole, hath connected the members together be considered as one society or body politic :

by the cords of a man, by the common ties and Providence, intending the [common]

of humanity and good nature, and fitted and good of the whole, hath [adjusted] connected

adjusted them to each other for their re- the members [one to another] together by

ciprocal use and benefit.' the cords of a man, by the common ties

N.B. — It may interest some readers to of humanity and good-nature, and fitted and

show how careful Bishop Berkeley was in adjusted them [so as to be] to each other

regard to his style in writing, by printing for their reciprocal use and benefit.'

Servian preached at LecrJiorii. 627

excellent, so easy as this of l(jving one another. Arc you afraid
that to fulfil any part of the Christian [virtues] might expose you
to contumely in a vicious and ungenerous world ? But what age,
what nation is so barbarous as not to honour a man of distinguished
charity and benevolence? Are you eagjr to enjoy the good things
of this life, or too worldly-minded to be altogether influenced
by the distant rccomp.Mises of that which is to come? Tiiis duty
has been shown most effectually to promote your present interests
in this world? Is there anything rigid and austere in the exercise
of virtues which may deter you from the practice [of vice] ?
Behold the very acts [commanded] are pleasant and delightful,
and what Solomon says of wisdom is also true of charity, 'Her
ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.'

How can you think on the baseness of an uncharitable, envious
spirit and not despise it? How can you reflect upon the mischief,
the anxiety, the torment that it produces, and not abhor it ? How
can you be sensible of God's indignation against this vice and
yet be guilty of it ?

After all, brethren, if against the express repeated command
and [injunction of] Almighty God, against the light and [voice]
of your own conscience, against future interest and the

common [feelings] of humanity we continue to [indulge] piques
and hatreds towards [others and] will not, pursuant to the apostle's
directions, put away from us all bitterness, and wrath, and clamour,
and evil speaking with be assured that our case is desperate.

Why should we disguise the truth ? It is fit sinners should know
their condition while it is in their power to mend it. I say
therefore, again, that the state of such persons is desperate, that
they cannot hope for salvation by the holy covenant. For St.
John plainly tells us, 'he that hateth his brother is in darkness
even until now.' That is, notwithstanding the light of the Gospjl
has now shined in the world, yet such a one is in a state of
heathenism, which in the Scriptures is named darkness. Again,
he that knoweth not God, for God is love. 'If any man saith
I love God and hateth his brother, h.- is a liar.' And now to what
purpose is it to produce any further testimony? Doth not our
Lord Himself tell us in the text, 'By this shall all men know that
ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another?' He therefore
that [loveth not] is no disciple of Christ's; he is, in [fact], no

S s 2

628 Sei'mon pi^eached at Leghorn.

Christian, has no right to expect any share in the sufferings and
intercession of Christ Jesus. Nay, I will be bold to say that all
the evangelists, the disciples, and our blessed Lord Himself had
not so frequently, so expressly, so urgently declared this great
truth to us, yet it would have been discovered by the light of
nature that an uncharitable person could not be saved. Strife,
calumny, revenge, envy, prepare and fit one for [the company]
of devils. A spirit with these [passions can be] no company
for saints and angels even in heaven itself where [all is] love, joy,
peace.

You, Christians, seriously consider what has been said. Let
it not be an idle dream in your fancies [let it sink down into]
your hearts and influence all your actions. ' Put on (as the elect
of God, holy and beloved) bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness
of mind, meekness, longsufi-ering, forbearing one another and
forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against as

Christ forgave you, so also do ye. And above all things, put on
charity, which is the bond of perfectness.' So will the good pro-
vidence of God protect and bless you during the course of this
mortal life, and at the last day you will be owned for true disciples
of the kind and merciful Jesus : to whom with thee, O Father, and
the Holy Ghost be all glory '".

* [It will be observed that towards the even then with difficulty. But in these pas-
end of this Sermon a few spaces are left sages a word or two is occasionally entirely
blank. This arises from the state of the obliterated. As they can generally be sup-
MS., which in this part is very much injured plied by the reader without difficulty, it has
(probably by the action of salt water). In been thought better to leave them, than to
the conclusion of the Sermon a hrge portion supply them by conjecture.]
of it is only legible under a strong light, and

SKELETONS OF SERMONS.

PREACHED AT NEWPORT, JAN. 26, lyaf.
IN THE NARRAGANSET COUNTRY, MAY 11, 1729.

Luke xvi. 16.

The LaiJU and the Prophets avere until John : since that time the kingdom of God

is preached.

I Cor. I. 2 1.

For after that in the nvisdom of God the ivorld by ivisdom kneiu not God, it pleased
God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that belie've,

1. Body and soul: provision for the former in nourishment, de-

fence, comfort.

2. Like provision for wellbeing of the soul: from the goodness

and wisdom of God ; from the excellency of the soul ; from
our natural appetite of happiness eternal ; from the text.

3. Mean and progress of Providence herein. Wisdom or law of

God twofold, nature and revelation.

II.

1. Light of nature sheweth the being of a God. His worship

inward by meditation and imitation j outward by prayer and
praise ; also by performing His will, which known from con-
science and inward feeling.

2. Great men under natural religion. Authority of revealed re-

ligion depends upon it as to the veracity of God and nature of
things revealed.

630 Skeletons of Sermons.

3. Being of God : distinction of moral good and evil j rewards

and punishments ; foundations, substance, life of all religion j
and first to be considered.

4. Vice, indolence, vanity obstructed n. [natural] religion. Some

wise men, but wanted authority. Ignorance, brutality, idolatry
of the heathen.

5. Revelation: i. to particulars^ Noah, Abraham, Job j 2. to the

Jewish nation.

III.

1. Things at the worst; God exerts, singles out a despised people

without law, leader, or country ; asserts them by force and
miracles ; conducts them ; gives them a law ; makes them His
peculiar people ; entrusts them with the truth.

2. Jewish law provides against idolatry and corruption of manners ;

natural religion comprised in the decalogue ; one God to be
worshipped without image basis of the whole.

3. After the golden calf rites instituted ; to prevent idolatry ; to

keep from mixing; to typifie; to insinuate mercy; and for
other reasons unknown.

4. Jewish law not designed to be perfect ; nor for the whole world,

nor to last for ever.

5. Stress on the moral part ; rites, ^c. spoken slightingly of,

Ps. 1. I ; Isaiah i. 1 1 ; Jerem. vi. 20 ; Hosea vi. 6 ; Micah
vi. 6.

6. Pharisees preferred rites to weightier matters ; Sadducees denied

angels, spirits, and life to come ; general expectation of the
Jews.

7. Revelation: i. to a family; 2. to a nation; 3. to the whole

world.

IV.

1. Messiah typified: family, time, place, character foretold; in-

troduced by angels, apparitions, voices from heaven, in-
spirations; attended by miracles; sight, motion, even life
bestowed on the dead.

2. Worship in spirit and in truth : perfect morals ; divine

sanction reaching to all men, which wanting in the h[eat]ien]
wisdom : in the former, i. e. morals exceeds Judaism [as
having] a clearer view of future things ; rites vanish like
shadows.

Skeleto7is of Sermons. 631

3. Not only outward observance, but inward sanctity; contempt

of the world, and life itself.

4. Peace; charity; benevolence; all honest and orderly behaviour ;

love of God ; purity of mind.

5. Having opened heaven and the sources of eternal life, Christ

inflames us with the hoped immortality; assimilation to the
Deity; perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect.

6. Exhortation helps ; encouragements ; rewards ; punishments.

7. Means of reconciliation ; Jewish nation and Christian ; God of

pardon, grace.

8. Christ crucified; the leader, way, life, truth; hath all power in

heaven and earth; proved by miracles; raising others and
Himself; send us the Holy Ghost.

II.

PREACHED AT NEWPORT, MARCH 2, 172!;.

Rom. VIII. 13.

If ye live after the flesh, ye shall die: but if ye through the Spirit do mortify the

deeds of the body, ye shall live.

1. Animal and rational; brute and angel; senses, appetites,
passions — their ends and uses ; guilt, why not in beasts.

Opposition, war; Rom. viii. 6, Gal. v. 17; lapsed state.

Grace, spirit, new man, old man ; £ph. iv. 22 ; danger from not
subduing the carnal brutal animal pait or flesh, works of the
flesh, what; Gal. v. 19.

2. Fasting conducive to subdue the flesh, shewn from natural
causes; 2 Cor. iv. 16; shewn from eflfccts in describing life spi-
ritual and lives of carnal men.

Fortune, reputation, health, pleasure; public evils from carnal
men.

3. Examples: Moses' fast in the mount forty days and nights
fitted him to receive the law from God by speech of the Holy One ;
Elijah supported by one cake and cruse of water, in strength
whereof he lived forty days and forty nights, and after saw God

632 Skeletons of Sermons.

in Horeb; Dan. i. 17, 'God gave them knowledge and skill in all
learning and wisdom ; and Daniel had understanding in all visions
and dreams.'

4. Instance of mercy to fasters, as in Ninive; of indignation
for the contrary, as in the Israelites who longed after the fleshpots
in Egypt.

5. Examples out of the New Testament : S. John Baptist and
Christ Himself.

6. Precepts in New Testament : ' This kind goeth not,' &c. ;
'When ye fast,' 6cc., Matt. vi. 16 j fasts at certain times.

7. What sort a Christian fast should be : not to destroy health,
not for ostentation, not in form, but from degree as well as kind \
not to merit, much less to establish a bank of merits j habitual
temperance; fast from all sin; curb lust, tongue, anger, every
passion, each whereof inebriates and obfuscates no less than drink
or meat ; cut off right hand, pluck out, &c.

8. Recapitulation : 3 motives, viz. — I. Temple of God, i Cor.
iii. 16. II. Race-horse, 'so strive that ye may obtain,' i Cor. ix.
24; crown, things temporal with things eternal compared. III.
Wrestle with principalities, Sec; Christian armour, Eph. vi. 11.

III.

PREACHED AT NEWPORT, FIRST SUNDAY IN JULY, 1729.

Rom. XIV. 17.

For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink, but righteousness, peace, and
joy in the Holy Ghost.

I-

I. Context : Meat and drink imply all rites and ceremonies,
a. Division into essentials and circumstantials in religion.

3. Circumstantials of less value, (i) from the nature of things ;

(2) from their being left undefined ; (3) from the concession
of our Church, which is foully misrepresented.

4. Duty in these matters, (i) because of decency and edification;

(2) because of lawful authority; (3) because of peace and
union.

Skeletons of Sermons. 633

II.

1. Worship in spirit and truth, righteousness in deed, in word,

in thought j not limited to buying and selling (Rom. xiii. 7).

2. Easier understood than practised j appeal to conscience.

3. Christ's summary rule — 'all things whatsoever ye would that

men should do to you, do ye even so [toj them , for this is
the law and the prophets.'

4. Reasons for practice: fiom equity (Mai. ii. 10) • the knave

may triumph, but, etc. (Ezek. xxii. 1).

III.

1. Christian peace twofold, (1) peace of mind inward; (2) outward

peace, i.e. charity and union with other men (Phil. ii. i, 2;
I Cor. i. 10; Rom. xv. 1).

2. The sum of religion : the distinguishing badge of Christians.

3. Sad that religion which requires us to love should become the

cause of our hating one another. But it is not religion,
it is, etc.

4. Were men modest, were men charitable, were men sincere.

Objection of lukewarmness.

5. Discern between persons and opinions, proportion our zeal

to the merit of things.

6. Elias-like zeal not the spirit of Christians. Charity described

(i Cor. xiii).

nil.

1. Joy in the Holy Spirit not sullen, sour, morose, joyless, but

rejoicing.

2. Not with insolent, tumultuous, profane joy, but calm, serene,

perpetual. Sinners, infidels, etc. have cause to be sad.

3. Causes of joy: protection of God (Ps. x.), forgiveness of sin

(Ps. ciii. 2, 3, 9), aid of the Holy Spirit, adoption, inheritance
in the heavens.

4. Since we have so great things in view, let us overlook petty

differences; let us look up to God our common Father; let
us bear one another's infirmities; instead of quarrelling about
those things wherein we differ, let us practise those things
wherein we agree.
(1) The Lord is my light and my salvation, etc.

634 Skeletons of Sermons.

(2) Be at peace among yourselves, etc.

(3) The way of the wicked is as darkness, they know not at

what, etc.

(4) The hope of the righteous, etc.

IV.

PREACHED AT NEWPORT, AUGUST 3, 1729.

I Tim. hi. 16.

Without contro'versy great ii the mystery of godliness ; God ivas manifest in

the flesh.

St. John i. 14.

Ihe Lord luas made flesh, and diuelt among us.

The divinity of our Saviour a fundamental article of the
Christian faith. We believe in him, pray to him, depend upon
him here and hereafter. Omniscience, etc. Denied of late years.
Mystery what.

State clear up, show the proofs, answer objections, consider
use and importance of the doctrine.

II.

Concerning the soul and body of Christ there is no con-
troversy, but about the personal union of the divinity with the
manhood.

Some sort of union with the Godhead in prophets, apostles,
all true Christians, all men; but with men. Christians, inspired
persons, Christ in different degrees. The latter also in kind
contradistinct as personal. This explained, and shown not re-
pugnant to natural reason.

III.

Shown to be in fact from express words in Scripture terming
Christ God: [^'The was God,' John i. i; ^ My Lord and my
God,' said Thomas to the Saviour.] From attributions of omni-

1 All within brackets was on the opposite side of the MS. to the sketch of the Sermon.
-H. J. R.

Skeletons of Sen/ ions. 635

potence : ['By him all things consist,' Col. i. 1 7 i 'Upholding
all things by the word of his power,' Heb. i. 3j 'Whatsoever
things the Father doth, these also doeth the Son likewise,' John
V. 19, 21.] Omnipresence: [John xiv. 23, 'Christ saith if a man
love him that the Father and he will come,' etc. j Matthew xviii.
20 j xxviii. 20.] Omniscience: ['Now are we sure that thou
knowest all things,' John xvi. 30 j xxi. 17.]

From the history and circumstances of his birth, life, and
resurrection, prophecies, miracles, apparition of angels. From his
works : [Pardoning sins, giving grace, sending the Holy Spirit,
judging the world, distributing rewards and punishments, dooming
to final perdition, or crowning with life and immortality.] From
the worship paid to him : ' All men are commanded to honour
the Son even as they honour the Father,^ John v. 23. [Baptism :
' In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.'
Apostles' benediction : ' The grace of our Lord,' etc. Doxology.
St. Peter ascribes to him 'praise and dominion for ever and ever;'
and again, 'to him be glory,' etc.; 'through Jesus Christ, to whom
be glory for ever and ever,' Heb. xiii. 21 ; and in the Apocal. v. 13,
'and every creature which is in heaven,' etc.]

IV.

Objection from Scripture: ['The Son can do nothing of him-
self,' etc., John v. 13; ' I seek not mine own will, but the will
of the Father who hath sent me,' ih.-^ 'I have not spoken of
myself, but the Father who hath sent me,' etc. ; ' to

sit on my right hand is not mine to give,' etc. ; ' of that

hour knoweth no man, not the angels, nor the Son, but the
Father,' . He prayeth, is afflicted, tempted, distressed.]

Answered by acknowledging Christ to be man as well as God,
whence contradictorys are predicated of his different natures.

V.
Objection from reason, from the meanness of his figure and
appearance. Answered by showing wherein true greatness and
glory consists — more in miracles and sanctity, infinitely more than
in pomp and worldly grandeur.

VI.

Objection second from reason, i.e. from substance, pcisonality,
etc.

636 Skeletons of Sertnons.

[The seed of the woman shall break the serpent^s head in
the dales of Adam. To Abraham : ' In thee shall all the families
of the earth be blessed.' By Jacob : ' Shiloh to whom the gathering
of the people.' Balaam: 'There shall come a star out of Jacob,
and a sceptre shall rise out of Israel.' Types: paschal lamb, all
sacrifices. From Samuel to Malachi : Luke x. 24 — ' Many prophets
have desired,' etc.

Hence motives to obedience, faith, hope, joy. [This doctrine
or mystery ; what not intended to produce j what it hath acciden-
tally produced. Simile of the sun and weak eyes j mind dim'd
with folly or inflamed with pride- rescue from despair j a hopeless
case cutts of all endeavour, etc. Favour extended ; door opened ;
citizens; endeavours accepted.]

PREACHED AT NEWPORT, THE FIRST SUNDAY IN
SEPTEMBER, 1729.

Heb. XII. 22, 23.
But ye are come unto mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly
Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and
church of the firstborn, ^.vhich are ivritten in heaven, and to God the Judge of all,
and to the spirits of just men made perfect.

1. Body, city, kingdom; Church formed in the original creation
of intelligent beings, which necessarily formed for society with
one another and orderly submission to the will of God : defection
of angels and men : our business to recover this pristine state :
ist Church on earth founded on the light of nature and traditions
from Noah ; 2nd Church of the Jews abolishing idolatry, contain-
ing the principles of moral duty with shadows and figures of things
to come ; Segullah^ always subsisting ; 3rd Church the Christian.

2. Jewish the religion of legal justice. Christian of saving grace ;
grace from the beginning'^; method of admission into this society;

* {SeguUah = HpJD Peculium, ' a peculiar treasure,' Exod. xix. 5.]
' Prophetic view of Christ, faith in God, sacrifices.

Skcleto)is of Ser^nons. 637

[* both Jews and Gentiles are fellowcitizens with the saints, and of
the household of God/ Ephes. ii. 19; the Church of the living
God • the pillar and ground of truth ; built by Christ upon a rock •
against which the gates of hell shall never prevail •] ' names written
in heaven/ Luke x. 2c j blotted out of the book of life j faith and
repentance inward, baptism outward; by nature unholy, by rege-
neration holy; in ist state lust, appetite, sense, passion, in a word
the flesh; in 2nd new life of the spirit, purifying, sanctifying,
ennobling our natures.

3. Requisites to continuance in the Church of Christ : inward,
the love of God and our neighbour, which comprehend the sum of
all duty, the bond and cement ; outward, the reception of the Holy
Sacramicnt.

4. Regular government necessary to every society upon earth :
12 patriarchs and 12 4)v\apxat, so 12 Apostles; 70 in the San-
hedrin, so 70 disciples appointed by our Lord ; [' He gave some,
apostles ; and some, prophets ; and some, evangelists ; and some,
pastors and teachers ; for the perfecting of the saints, for the work
of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ/ Eph. iv. 11,
12;] at first, indeed, illiterate men and mechanics were pastors,
but then they were inspired and miraculously gifted, Ephes. iv. 11,
12; bishops, priests, and deacons; 'The Lord gave the word:
great was the company of those that published it,' Ps. [Ixviii. 11.]

5. Rights and privileges pertaining to this society; adopted
into the divine family, sons of God, heirs of salvation ; not slaves,
but subjects; in every society rights and dues; ['Li this city which
hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God/ Heb. xi. 10;]
God hath right to our obedience, and we right to his promises;
we are obliged to live towards God as servants, subjects, children;
towards one another as brethren.

6. Church invisible and visible ; many of the visible Church not
of the invisible; can we think that such and such, &c. ?

7. Church not confined to this spot of earth; text; angels
original citizens, we aliens naturalized; [« Very excellent things
are spoken of thee, thou city of God/ Ps. ;] unity of the Church,
because governed by one Head, quickened and sanctified by the
same Spirit, whereof all partake, whence a communion of saints;
[our Saviour saith, ' There shall be one fold, and one shepherd/
S. John X. 16.]

638 Skeletons of Sermons.

8. Recapitulation; Baptism and the Eucharist ; punctual in lower
forms for small views; spiritual things not perceived by carnal
men ; palace and dungeon ; how eager to get in, how cautious of
being turned out. Ephes. iv. 1-6.

VI.

PREACHED AT NEWPORT IN RHODE ISLAND, THE FIRST
SUNDAY IN OCTOBER, 1729.

Acts n. 38.
Repent^ and be baptized every one of you.

1. Baptism by water a sign both by nature and appointment; a

badge also by which Christians are distinguished.

2. Seal of God's promises — remission, justification, adoption. God

binds himself by free promise of grace on his part, on our part
we become entitled to these promises, to the ordinances and
the grace conferred by them.

3. New life and regeneration, Rom. vi. 3, 4, 7.

*He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved,' Mark

xvi. 16.
' Except a man be born again of water and of the Spirit he

cannot enter into the kingdom of God.'

II.

1. Men of notoriously wicked lives and of scandalous professions

anciently excluded; now [no?] doubt touching children and
slaves; children of believers may, for — 10. 'to you and your
children are the promises made,' Acts ii. 39, &c. ; ' your
children are holy,' i Cor. vii. 14; circumcision.

2. Objection that belief is required ; ans. by parallel ; he that will

not labour, neither shall he eat, now infants are not hereby
excluded from eating. — 2. Believers may be termed believers,
Christ calling them so, Matth. xviii. 6 — 3. Strictly speaking,
it is not faith, but the application of Christ's righteousness

Skeletons of Sermons. 639

that justifieth, and this may, if God please, be applied other-
wise than by faith, v. q. by his sanctifying Spirit.
3. 2d objection : that no mention is made of infants being bap-
tized in Scripture; but neither is mention made there of
women receiving the eucharist, — besides, it is said, several
persons and all their household were baptized.

III.

1. Our Saviour commandeth his disciples to go and baptize all

nations. The Eunuch of Ethiopia.

2. I. ob. Christianity maketh no alteration in civil rights, servants

in the New Testament signifying slaves, v.q. Onesimus ; hence
objection from loss of property answered.

3. 2d. ob. That baptism makes slaves worse. Resp. This proceeds

from an infidel mind ; contrary shewn ; what they charge on
baptism to be charged on their own unchristian life and
neglect of instruction.

4. Duty in masters to instruct and baptize their families, but

negligent of their own baptism.

IV.

Baptism of adults deferred anciently either for instruction or emen-
dation of the Church, but wrongly by themselves deferred.

1 reason, 1°. through supine negligence.

What so nearly concerns as our own soul ? what so valuable as the

kingdom of heaven ?
If you were sick, in captivity, or encumbered with debt, and you

were assured that by an easy method, as washing, 6cc., would

you say you had not leisure to be heard, &:c. ?
But these diseases, this servitude, these debts, are of infinitely more

consequence as respecting our eternal state.
Should any enemy debar you, how would you rail! why then will

you be that enemy yourself? 8.

2 reas. Despondency. Rcsp. ' Where sin abounded, grace did much

more abound,' Rom. v. 30.

3 reas. Heresy of Novatian. St. Peter, and whole tenour of tlie

New Testament and Old.

4 reas. Wrong notion of a covenant which they apprehend would

640 Skehtoiis of Sermons.

entrap them; herein 1°. mistake from the nature of the cove-
nant, which imposeth no new obligations ; were believing
men free before baptism, something might be said for defer-
ring it, but 'woe to thee, Bsthsaida,' &c., but 'Sodom,' ^c...
Matt. X. 14, 15. 2". impiety in mistrusting our blessed Lord,
who invites, saying, ' Come to me all that labour and are heavy
laden, and I will refresh you ; ' also, he saith his yoke is easy,
and his burden light. 3'\ the greatest folly and blindness to
our loss, it being a covenant on our part entirely advan-
tageous, a privilege, an offer of grace and pardon and in-
valuable rights. Titus iii. 4, 5.

5 reas. An unwillingness to forsake sin, a cunning design of living
to the world and dying to God ; this is to say, I will wallow in
vice and sin, cheat, purloin, indulge in gluttony and drunken-
ness, and deny nothing that my appetite leads to; the first-
fruits, flower, prime to the devil, the fag-end, when faculty for
good and evil is gone, to God. 'Thinkest thou that 1 am such
a one as thyself? '' Ps. ; but 'God is not mocked,' Gal.

Our Saviour's parable of those who came late in the day to work,
not designed to encourage delay in believers, but to give
comfort to those who had late means of information.

But how know you it is not late now ? who hath given you a lease
of life? who assured you that you shall live to be old, that
you shall not die suddenly, that you shall not die to-morrow,
or even this very day? can you think that God, whom you
never hearkened to, will hearken to your first call ?

When the fever is got into your head, when you can neither bend
a knee nor lift an eye to heaven, when you cannot frame a
prayer yourself or join with others. Suppose baptism con-
ferred then and grace given, you have the talent without the
time or opportunity to produce fruit or profit thereby.

All things are ready ; God now calls, but the devil causeth delay ;
to-day for me, to-morrow for the Lord. He is too cunning to
suggest a resolution against ever doing what you know should
be done, but stealing the present he stealeth day after day,
till &:c.

Be enrolled on earth in due time, that you may be written in the
book of life that is in heaven.

Skeletons of Sermons. (y\ i

VII.

PREACHED AT NEWPORT, FIRST SUNDAY IN
AUGUST, 1730.

Matt. xxii. 37, 38.

Thou shalt love the Lord thy God ivith all thy heart, and ivith all thy soul, and
iv'tth all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment.

In arts and sciences certain fundamental truths; in factions and
divisions of men a chief tenet or principle; in religion, difference
and degrees in principles; what is the chief? our Saviour answers
in my text.

Love various: i. of sensible objects; 2. of inferiors and depen-
dants; 3. of friendship between equals; 4. love of gratitude and
respect to benefactors and superiors; 5. love of virtue and excel-
lence, i.e. objects of the understanding.

Two last the love of God : image of God strongly to be im-
pressed for imitation ; ever mindful of his benefits, numerous,
great, constant.

We shew love to superiors and benefactors by consulting their
honour, i. e. by performing their will, and endeavouring that others
should perform it. ['This is the love of God, that we keep his
commandments,' i John v. 3.]

Will of God known, i. by considering his attributes; 2. by con-
science and instinct; 3. by the preaching of Christ and apostles.
[' Their sound went into all the earth, and their words unto the
end of the world.']

Hence, i«*. charity, i. e. candour, gentleness, compassion, congra-
tulation, wishing and promoting their welfare.

a". Temperance, contrivance of appetites and passions, limits,
objects, mortification, rule the end and tendency.

3". Resignation ; [' The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken
away, blessed be the name of the Lord,' Job ;] good with thanks,
bad with patience, both mistaken ; strong passions, weak judg-
ments; wealth and power in themselves indifferent, good or bad
as used ; rather thankful than anxious for more.

4°. Worship in spirit and in tmth; holy, as he is holy; not lip-
worship, not will-worship, but inward and evangelical.

Our interest in this, imperfect creatures, blind and backward,

VOL. IV. T t

642 Skeletons of Sermotis.

actions civil and motions natural, all by lawj thus actions moral
and religious by rule, i.e. will of God; will follows understanding;
ignorant and impotent; ['There is a way that seemeth right unto
man, but the end thereof are the ways of death,' Prov. ;] anguish
and remorse; [' Woe unto him that striveth with his maker,' Isaiah
xlv. 9 ;] conforming gives happiness, public and private.

Mind the end and will of God; not enslaved by lust; faculties
not impaired ; masters not servants to passions, bending them to
the will of God ; our freedom and perfection.

To this single point all religion, virtue, happiness; misery from
transgressing, happiness from conforming to rule; but no rule so
right, &c. ; agreeable harmony ; not disturbed, not disappointed,
not engaged, not worried, but calm, &c. ; living up to nature ;
nothing so natural to man as an orderly life, regulated by the will
of God ; proper sphere ; dislocated ; duty and interest joined in the
love of God.

VIII.
PREACHED AT NEWPORT, MAY 11 ^

S. Luke xxii. 19.
This do in remembrance of me,

I Cor. XI. 26,

As often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do sheiv the Lord's
death till he come.

Christ's institution observed constantly in the Church ; this
sufficient to modest and humble Christians. But observed only by
few, &c. ; therefore treat of the uses of this sacrament, the requi-
sites to it, and the objections against receiving it.

ist use to signify and to seal; bread and wine apt emblems, and
why : 2. to keep up a memory : 3. to increase faith, love of God,
joy, thankfulness : 4. to quicken our obedience by repentance and
resolutions : 5. to distinguish Christians from other men : 6. to
sement them together: 7. meet there should be certain solemn

' No year ; probably 1730. See No. I.

Skeletons of Sermons. 643

times for certain duties, to prevent growing into neglect. [' To
every thing there is a season and a time for every purpose under
the sun.']

Wrong apprehensions about the Eucharist in Papists not con-
sidering the circumcision is called the covenant, lamb the pass-
over, cup the new testament; their folly too gross : — in enthusiasts
or mistaken men, who reject it as not spiritual ; but why pray ?
why preach? why build houses of worship? because these are
signs or means of grace or things spiritual. The like to be said of
the Eucharist.

Practice of primitive Christians, than whom none wiser or better
now. Inspiration of the apostles and first disciples known by mira-
cles. (Acts ii. 15, 17, 18, and iii.) No inspiration to be admitted
for such without them ; much less for pretence thereof to reject
institutions of Christ and His apostles.

Wrong apprehensions in other men of our own communion, who
avoid the Eucharist. Ground hereof the fear of incurring wrath
by abuse; this founded principally on S. Paul's threat to the
Corinthians, 1 Cor. xi. 29 with 21. If fear of abuse prevail, why
baptized ? why hear a sermon ? why read the Scriptures ?

Things required in the communicants : Faith, i Tim. i. 15 ; re-
pentance, James iv. 8; charity, 1 Cor. x. 16, 17. Christians with-
out these exposed to wrath, although they forbear the sacrament,
the neglect whereof an additional guilt. Ps. cxvi. 12, 13, 14.

IX.

PREACHED AT NEWPORT. [NO DATE.]

I Cor. XV, 20,
^ut noiv is Christ risen fro77i the dead, and become the Jirstfruits of them that slept.

I Cor. XV. 55.
O death, ^inhere is thy sting ? 0 grave, avhere is thy "victory ?

2 Tim. I. lo.
Who abolished death, and brought life and immortality to light by the Gospel.

1. To consider the ways of men, one would think them never to
die ; [Psalms, ' The inward thought of the rich, that their houses

T t 2

644 Skeletons of Sermons.

shall continue for ever, and their dwelling-places to all genera-
tions;'] to consider how made within, what accidents without;
strange should live so long; no need of reason to prove death,
experience frequent; [Peter, 'AH flesh is as grass, and all the glory
of man as the flower of grass.']

1. Uncertainty of time ; brevity certain ; case not hopeless of a
resurrection ; many hints from nature in changes analogous thereto ;
night and day, winter and spring, fruits, plants, insects, production
of animals.

3. Argument from instinct, and natural appetite of immortality ;
reflection on the growth and perfection of the soul, whence designed
for higher purposes; this world a punishment or a school, the
former philosophers, the latter Christians.

4. Job^ and Balaam'^ before the Jews; [uncertainty of ancients in
expressions^;] of these David, EzekieH, Solomon, and Daniel ^
[1 Job xix. 25, ' I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall
stand at the latter day upon the earth : and though after my skin
worms destroy this my body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.'
2 ' Let me die the death of the righteous, and may my latter end be
like his.' •* Job xiv. 7, 10, ' There is hope of a tree, if it be cut
down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof
will not cease . . but man dieth, and wasteth away : yea, man
giveth up the ghost, and where is he ?' * Eccles. xii. 7, ' The dust
shall return to the earth, and the spirit to God who gave it.'
^ Dan. xii. 2, ' Many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth
shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and
everlasting contempt.']

5. Life and immortality brought to light by the gospel ; Jewish
twilight ; resurrection of Christ proof, as confirmation, as ex-
ample.

6. Christ, predicts and institutes, voluntary ; Jews place guard ;
soldiers' tale; Providence in the guard; appeared often, to several,
in the day, submits to trials of sense, walks, talks, eats and drinks;
disciples could not be deceived ; ascension ; 3000 converts.

7. Consider the impossibility of deceiving others : with cunning ?
none; with authority? none; with eloquence and learning? none;
no means.

8. No motives, punishments, &c. for declaring it, no temporal
advantage; nor fame, nor interest, nor prejudices answered by it.

Skeletons of Sermons. 645

9. Cowardly before, new and high courage j dispersed when
alive; die for him now he is dead^ expected a temporal prince.

JO. End, goodness, innocence, truth.

II. Prophecies, miracles, resurrection, ascension; destruction,
dispersion of Jews; wonderful spread of the gospel; like light to
Britain and India and Aethiopia.

PREACHED AT NEWPORT. [NO DATE.]

PS. XV. I, 3.

Lord^ who shall abide in thy tabernacle ? nvho shall divell in thy holy hill ? He
that backbiteth not luith his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbour, nor taketh up
a reproach against his neighbour.

1. Frequency; little honour, great guilt; [James i. 26, 'If any
man among you seem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue,
hut deceiveth his own hearty that man's religion is vain;'] text. 4
points: i. what it is contrary to; 2. whence it springs; 3. what
effects; 4. counsels for shunning it, in the close exhortation
against it.

2. Contrary to charity, i Cor. xiii. 4, 5, 6 ; taking things in the
worst sense mark of hatred ; eagerness to tell mark of pleasure
which shews hatred.

3. Contrary to justice; not doing as we would be done by;
[S.James iv. 12, 'Who art thou that judgest another?'] Judges
obliged to inform themselves. Good and evil moral depends on
unseen springs. Not to draw a general character from a single
instance. Life, goods, and reputation, 3 great possessions ; in the
two first wrong evident.

4. Sign of want of merit ; readiness to suspect others, token of
inward guilt.

5. Sign of malignant nature ; like to God and to the devil by
different qualities. Spider and toad unlike to the bee. Pride and
ill-will sources of detraction.

6. Evil effects, viz. loss of reputation, inferring many losses,

646 Skeletons of Sermons.

e. g. of comfort, esteem, interest, friendship, &c. ; ill-will among
neighbours; bad example to others; manner how reports spread
in an instant.

7. Evil effects to ourselves ; retaliation ; hatred ; contempt ; loss
of time; no advantage; no sensual or reasonable pleasure; no
esteem. [Prov. x. 18, 'He that uttereth slander is a fool.'] This
damns more souls than murder or robbery.

8. Counsel to cherish charity towards others. [Titus iii. 2,
'Speak evil of no man;' and S. James iv. 11, 'Speak not evil one
of another.'] To look narrowly into ourselves ; talk ; to examine
whether we have not the same, or as bad, or even worse ; beam in
our own eye ; great use in examining ours, none in others.

9. Pharisee and publican; severe to ourselves, candid to others;
all criminals at the same bar; inditing our neighbour, we swell
our own indictment. 'Judge not, that you be not judged,' &c.,
Matt. vii. I, 2 ; Rom. xiv. 4.

XI.

PREACHED AT NEWPORT. [NO DATE.]

James iv. ii.
Speak not ei'il one of another. a

Vices, like weeds, different in different countries; national
vice familiar; intemperate lust in Italy, drinking in Germany;
tares wherever there is good seed; though not sensual, not less
deadly ; e. g. detraction : would not steal 6 d.^ but rob a man of his
reputation ; they who have no relish for wine have itching ears
for scandal; this vice often observed in sober people; praise and
blame natural justice; where we know a man lives in habitual
sin unrepented, we may prevent hypocrites from doing evil ; but
to judge without enquiry, to shew a facility in believing and a
readiness to report evil of one's neighbour; frequency, little horror,
great guilt ; ext.

4 points; not contrary to; whence it springs; what effects;
arguments and exhortation against it.

S/ci'/cions oj ScDfious. 647

Contrary to charity : j Cor. xiii. 4, 3, 6, [' Charity sufl-c-rcth long,
and is kind; charity envieth not; is not easily provoked, thinkcth
no evil; rcjoiccth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;']
taking things in the worst sense mark of hatred.

Contrary to justice : not doing as we would be done by ; S. James
iv. 12, ['Who art thou that judgcst another?'] Judges obliged to
inform themselves ; moral good and evil depends on unseen
springs; life, goods, and reputation 3 chief possessions, wrong in
the two first evident.

Springs from want of merit: readiness to suspect others, token
of inward guilt. He that cannot rise would depress.

Springs from malignant nature: like to God and the devil by
different qualities; spider, toad, and bee; pride and ill-will sources
of detraction.

Evil effects to others: loss of reputation inferring many losses,
e.g. of comfort, esteem, interest, friendship; ill-will among neigh-
bours; bad example to others; [how reports spread in an instant].

Evil effects to ourselves : retaliation, hatred, contempt, loss of
time, no advantage, no pleasure sensual or rational, jProv. x. 18,
' He that uttereth slander is a fool.'] This damns more souls than
murder or robbery.

Counsel to cherish charity towards others : [Titus iii. 2, 'Speak
evil of no man;'] to look narrowly into ourselves; to examine
whether we have not the same or as bad or even worse; beam in
our own eye; great use in examining ourselves, little in our
neighbours; severe to ourselves, candid to others; revcrs." of the
Pharisee; all criminals at the same bar; judge not, that you be
not judged.

Let a man examine hims:*lf, enough to tire, not to s:itisfy, if
pleased with others' defects, &c. ; mark of repi obation, because
contrary to mark of Christ's disciples ; because it makes men
likest to Satan; he is by etymology an enemy to mankind; he is
by office father of lies; he tempts men to sensuality, but he is in
his own nature malicious and malignant; pride and ill-nature two
vices most severely rebuked by our Saviour.

All deviations sinful, but those upon dry purpose more so;
malignity of spirit like an ulcer in the nobler parts, less visible
but more, &c. ; age cures sensual vices, this grows with age;
[James i. 26, ' If any man among you seem to be religious, and

648 Skeletons of Sermons,

bridleth not his tongue, that man's religion is vain j' form of god-
liness, &c.] ; more to be guarded against because less scandalous ;
imposing on others and even on themselves as religion and a zeal
for God's sei-vice, when it really proceeds only from ill-will to
man, and is no part of our duty to God, but directly contrary to it.
[Ps. XV. I, 3, * Lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle ? who shall
dwell in thy holy hill ? he that backbiteth not with his tongue,
nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour.']

XII.

PREACHED AT NEWPORT. [NO DATE.]

Luke ii. 14.
Glory to God in the highest y and on earth peace, good-nvill toivards men.

1. First creation and second: ['when the morning stars sang
together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy']. Messiah pre-
destinated from the beginning. Adam^, Abraham'?, Jacob', Ba-
laam 4, David, Isaiah, Daniel, &c. types. Isaiah ix. 6. First
long foretold ; anniversary advent celebrated. [Devotion, respect,
meditation], three points in the text. [^ The seed of the woman
that should bruise the serpent's head. - ' In thee shall all the
families of the earth be blessed.' ■* Shiloh, to whom the gathering
of the people should be. ^ ' I shall see him, but not now : I shall
behold him, but not nigh : there shall come a Star out of Jacob,
and a Sceptre shall rise out of Israel.']

2. Kingdom of darkness and of light : lust and brutality and
ignorance ; knowledge, truth, faith, virtue, grace. Magnify, thank,
praise, worship, not as Pagans, nor as Jews, but in spirit and
truth. [Glory be to God, as excellent praised, as good beloved, as
powerful adored. He is not proud of our praise, or fond of our
worship; but &c.]

3. Charity, love, forgiveness, peace, doing good, mark and dis-
tinction, life, soul, substance of our religion. Eph. iv. 31 ; 1 Cor.
iii 3, 4. Beatitudes ; herein goodness of God.

Skeletons of Scrmo)is. 649

4. Good-will from sin to holiness, death to life, enmity to re-
conciliation. I John iv. 9, 10 j Isai. liii. 4, 5, 6. No cloud, whirl-
wind, fire, tScc, but &c. Frost and darkness before the sun. Jews
under the law saved by the same means. Faint light. 2 Pet. i. 19.

[5. Phil. ii. 6, 7. God rendered more visible, not more present,
by incarnation. Light of the sun unpolluted. Believe what is
revealed, content therewith.]

6. How is God glorified when sin abounds ? Resp. It less
abounds; glorified one way in the righteous, another in the wicked.
How is peace upon earth? Resp. Among true Christians, and all
are exhorted to be so : [wars not from religion, but from avarice
and ambition and revenge; religion only pretext.] How doth
goodwill appear to men, since they abuse the gospel ? Resp. Good-
will in the oflFer, not in the use ; God gracious, though man be
wicked. That our nature, which was polluted, might be sanctified,
infirm strengthened, estranged reconciled, doomed to hell admitted
into heaven. Adam's curse reversed between sentence and exe-
cution before. Shall angels, stars, inanimate nature, and not
man ? Our Blessed Lord comes to wash, redeem, adopt ; but man
will not be washed, will not &c. What more pitiful and prepos-
terous than that we should reject the tender mercies of the Lord,
renounce our adoption, forfeit our inheritance in that blessed
region where Christ — whence — whither, &c.

VISITATION CHARGE.

Since the duty of my station and the received custom require
me, at this my first visitation, to propose to you whatever I shall
think conducive to the better discharge of the important trust
committed to your care, I shall desire your attention for a few
minutes.

You all know, and indeed it is but too visible that we live in
an age wherein many are neither propitious to our order nor to the
religion we profess — scoffers, walking after their own lusts, which
St. Peter foretold should come in these last days. It behoves,
therefore, clergymen to behave with more than common vigilance.
Zeal, and discretion, if they would either preserve the love and
reverence of their friends, or disarm the censure of their enemies.
Thus much concerning all clergymen in general, as such.

But those of the Established Church in this kingdom have need
of double diligence in their callings, and an extraordinary circum-
spection in their behaviour, as we live among men of a different
communion, abounding in numbers, obstinate in their prejudices,
backward to acknowledge any merits, and ready to remark any
defects in those who differ from them. And this circumstance
should make us not only more cautious how we behave among
such neighbours, but likewise more diligent and active in their
conversion.

Though it is to be feared that clergymen too often look on
Papistry within their parishes as having no relation to them, nor
being at all entitled to any share of their pains or concern. But
if they are not so properly and immediately part of our flock as
those of our own communion, they are nevertheless to be con-
sidered as members of the Catholic Church, very corrupt, indeed,
and unsound, yet professing faith in the same Saviour. And this
gives them some relation to us more than mere infidels and
heathen. But supposing them to be no better than infidels or

Visitation Charge. 651

heathen, will any man say that it is not the duty of Christ's
ministers to convert infidels and preach the Gospel to heathen ?
Had such a maxim prevailed in the primitive times, how could
Christianity have been propagated throughout the world ?

True it is that, as the education of Protestants is for the most
part more liberal and ingenuous than that of Roman Catholics,
so those of our communion are more ready to argue and more
apt to judge for themselves than they. Protestants, I say, are
neither so blind nor so enslaved as their adversaries \ who are made
to believe that every the least doubt in religious matters is crimi-
nal, or even the giving ear to anything that can be said against
their preconceived opinions. And, indeed, herein consists the
chief skill and management of their priests to keep their flocks
both blind and deaf. For could they be but once brought to open
their eyes and reason upon the points in controversy, the business
of their conversion would be more than half done.

The main point, therefore, is to bring them to reason and
argue ; in order to which it should seem the right way to begin
with a proper behaviour. We should be towards them charitable,
gentle, obliging, returning good for evil, showing and having a
true concern for their interest, not always inveighing against their
absurdities and impieties. At least we ought not to begin with
taxing them as fools and villains, but rather treat of the general
doctrines of morality and religion wherein all Christians agree,
in order to obtain their good opinion, and so make way for the
points controverted between us, which will then be handled with
greater advantage.

I say we must first win upon their affections, and so having
procured a favourable hearing, then apply to their reason. If we
judge of other men's tempers by our own, we shall conceive it ex-
pedient that we should seem to think the best of their personal
qualities, their integrity, and love of truth ; use the greatest can-
ciour ourselves, make all possible concessions, appeal to their own
reason, and make them judges of our tenets and the arguments by
which we support them.

It is a remarkable difference between them and us, that they
find their principal account in addressing to the passions of men,
we in applying to their reason • they to the meanest capacities,
we to the most distinguished and improved. In fact, if we

652 Visitation Charge.

consider the proselytes on both sides, we shall find the converts to
the Church of Rome to be mostly women and uneducated people j
whereas the converts from Popery are those of the best sense and
education among them. Were there many of this sort, it should
seem less difficult for us to make proselytes. But even as it is,
there is still a difference between them. And we may presume
the better sort will be more easily wrought onj nothing being
more sure than that ignorance is ever attended with the most
obstinate prejudice, men making up for want of light by abundance
of heat. And if the better sort were once converted, the natural
inclination of following their chiefs would soon facilitate the con-
version of others.

One would imagine it might not be impossible to prevail with
reasonable men of the Church of Rome to come into our religious
assemblies, if it were only for curiosity ; and this might take off
much of their prejudice and aversion, by letting them see what our
worship is, although they should not be prevailed upon to join in
it. And yet, all things considered, what should hinder a professed
Papist from hearing a sermon, or even joining occasionally in the
ordinary offices of our Church ? The difference is that in our
liturgy divers prayers and hymns are omitted which are to be found
in theirs. But then, what is retained even they themselves ap-
prove of; since we innovated nothing, having only weeded out
and thrown away those superstitions that grew up in the dark and
ignorant ages of the Church. May we not therefore argue with
the Papists thus : — There is nothing in our worship which you can-
not assent to, therefore you may conform to us; but there are
many things in yours that we can by no means allow, therefore
you must not expect that we can join in your assemblies.

It were needless to furnish you with arguments against such
adversaries. The only difficulty lies in bringing them into the
field. True it is that prejudices early imbibed and sunk deep in
the mind are not immediately got rid of; but it is as true that
in every human creature there is a ray of common sense, an
original light of reason and nature which the worst and most
bigoted education, although it may impair, can never quite ex-
tinguish. There is no man who considers seriously but must see
that whatever flatters men in their sins, whatever encourages
cruelty and persecution, whatever implies a manifest contradiction,

Visitation Charge. 653

whatever savours of fraud and imposture, can be no part of the
wisdom from above, can never come from God. When, therefore,
you can bring one of these adversaries to consider attentively and
argue calmly on the points that divide us, you will soon find his
own reason on your side.

But although you who have the care of souls were ever so
capable and ever so willing to bring the strayed sheep into the
flock, to enlighten and convince your adversaries, yet it may
perhaps still be said, that there is an insuperable difficulty in
coming at them, that they are so many deaf adders that stop their
ears and hear not the voice of the charmer, charm he never so
wisely. This, I grant, is a great difficulty, but do not think it an
insuperable one. Opportunities may be found, and sometimes
offer of themselves, if they are not overlooked or neglected.

The work, I own, might be more easily done if Papists could be
brought to seek instruction and attend your sermons. But even
where this cannot be hoped for, may not something be done by
conversation? Occasional discourse, I say, that imperceptibly
glides from one subject to another, may be so conducted by a
prudent person to those topics he hath a mind to treat of, as if
they naturally arose from what went before, or came by accident
in the way. We may observe that, whenever the inclination is
strongly set towards a thing or bent on any purpose, handles for
attaining it do now and then present themselves which might
otherwise never be thought of.

The Protestant friends and Protestant relations of Roman
Catholics may furnish occasions of your meeting and conversing
with those whom you may perhaps think you cannot so properly
visit at their own houses ; though it were to be wished that good
neighbourhood and the friendly commerce of life was not inter-
rupted by difference in religion. It is certain that the very same
doctrine which a man would never read in a book or hear in a
sermon, may sometimes be insinuated in free conversation : that
a subject, which, if proposed at once might shock, being intro-
duced by degrees might take: that what comes as it were from
chance is often admitted, while that which looks like design is
guarded against: and that he who will not seek instruction may
nevertheless receive it.

And even in those cases where you are utterly excluded from

654 Visitation Charge.

any immediate intercourse with your Popish parishioners, if the
more religious laymen of your parish were sufficiently instructed
in the chief points of the Popish controversy, I apprehend it might
often lie in their way to give a helping hand toward the con-
version of Papists; who, although they will not submit to be
taught, may yet condescend to teach, to inform those that shall
appear inquisitive, to resolve a doubt modestly proposed ; and may
by such means be drawn into an argument before they are aware ;
of it. Neighbourhood gives opportunities, and dependence gives
an influence ; all which opportunities and influence might, one
would think, produce something, especially if managed and im-
proved with skill.

There is, doubtless, an indiscreet, warm, overbearing manner; jf
and in the hands of those who have it the best arguments are ^
weak, and the best cause will suffer. There is, on the other hand,
a gentle, prudent, and obliging way which would be an advantage
to the worst, a way that softens the heart and prepares it for con-
viction. Would you in earnest make proselytes, follow St. Paul's
example, and in his sense ' become all things to all men,' that you
may gain some. Adopt as much as you conscientiously can of
their ways of thinking; suit yourselves to their capacities and
their characters; put yourselves in their places, and then consider
how you should like to be dealt with, and what would offend you.
If your intention is rather to gain a proselyte than to triumph over
him, you must manage his passions, and skilfully touch his preju-
dices. To convince men, you must not begin with shocking,
angering, or shaming them.

I do not mean that you should favour their prejudices, or pal-
liate their absurdities; on the contrary, when you have once
obtained a favourable hearing, when you have prepossessed them
with an opinion of your own candour, when, by a skilful appli-
cation of 'precept upon precept, line upon line, here a little and
there a little' (to use the prophet's language), you have in some
measure made them sensible of errors and wrong principles, — you
may then proceed to set the wickedness of their practices and the
absurdities of their superstitions in the strongest light, and paint
them in their true colours.

1 told you before that it was not my design to furnish you with
arguments against the Church of Rome, which 1 conceive you are

Visitation Chari^c. 655

already sufficiently provided with. All 1 intended w;is to give you
some general directions about the use and application of them.

Before I quit this subject I must recommend it to your care to
acquaint yourselves vi'ith the state of Popery, and diligently to
v^^atch over its progress or decrease. In order to which it is highly
expedient that you inform yourselves annually of the numbers of
Papists within your respective parishes. Your own discretion will
show you the easiest way for doing this. One thing 1 will ven-
ture to say, that it is not impossible to be done, and I am sure
it ought to be done.

I believe you are not ignorant that some measures have been
formerly taken in several parts of the kingdom, I mean by itinerant
preachers in the Irish tongue, which failed of the desired eftect j
other measures are also now set on foot by charity schools, which
it is hoped may have better success. But neither the miscarriage
of the one, nor the hopes of the other, should prevent every one of
you from setting his hand to the plough, as opportunity serves.
The Protestant preachers in the Irish tongue failed of success for
want of audiences ; and this was without remedy. But that which
did not do in one time or place may, perhaps, succeed better in
another. At least, I wish it were tried, if any amongst you are
sufficient masters of the language. As for the Protestant schools,
I have nothing particular to say, more than recommend to your
perusal what hath been already published on that subject.

But all methods, I fear, will be ineffectual if the clergy do not
co-operate and exert thems^^ves with due zeal and diligence for
compassing so desirable an end ; which, if it were once set about
with the same earnest and hearty endeavours that the Popish clergy
show in their missions, we should, I doubt not, in a little time see
a different face of things, considering the great advantages that
you possess over your adversaries, having such superiority of edu-
cation, such protection from the laws, such encouragement and
countenance from the government: in a word, every reasonable
help and motive is on our side, as well as the truth of our cause.

And yet, as things are, little is done ; which must undoubtedly
be owing, not so much to the difficulty of the work, as to the
remissness of thos2 who ought to do it. In the beginning of the
Reformation many proselytes were made by Protestant divines.
Was there then less prejudice on one side, or more ability on the

656 Visitation Charge.

other? Nothing of this, but only a greater measure of zeal and
diligence in the Reformers. It must, without doubt, to any in-
different observer seem a little unaccountable that in a country
where the true religion hath been so long established, there should
yet remain so great a majority involved in blindness and super-
stition. This, I say, will hardly be accounted for if the clergy are
supposed with due care and pains to discharge their duty.

An habitual or a prevailing neglect may perhaps still incline
some to think that this is no part of their duty. Others may be
apt to conclude that where there is no penalty appointed by the
law of the land, there is no obligation. But surely it must be very
wrong and very strange for a Christian pastor to measure his duty
by the rule either of law or of custom. There is a rule of con-
science and a rule of Scripture, and by these rules it is evidently
the duty of parochial clergy to labour the conversion of those
who are infected with idolatry or superstition within their several
parishes. But, besides all this, there is an express canon directing
all ministers to confer with the Popish recusants within their
parishes, in order to reclaim them from their errors.

Rather than treat in general of the pastoral care, I have chosen
to dwell on this particular branch, which seems less attended to.
I have endeavoured to show you that it is really a branch of your
duty, that it is a duty not impossible to be executed, and what
methods seem to me most likely to succeed, which, if diligently
put in practice, cannot, I think, be altogether without effect. But
if nothing else should ensue, you, my brethren, will at least have
the satisfaction of being conscious that it was not for want of
using your best endeavours. It is impossible, indeed, minutely
to prescribe what should be done, how much, and in what manner.
That must be left to every man's conscience and discretion. But,
in conclusion, I recommend it to you all, both in the discharge of
this duty, and in every other part of your conduct, to have constantly
before your eyes that most excellent and extensive precept of our
Blessed Saviour: 'Be ye wise as serpents and innocent as doves.'

Out of Bishop Butler's Letter : — ' However, one must not so far
despair of religion as to neglect one's proper part with regard to
it; and they who take care to perform it faithfully, have the
comfort that all will finally end well for themselves, whatever
becomes of this mad world.'

ADDRESS ON CONFIRMATION.

{A^o date.)

It is fit that you who are b: ought hither to be confirmed should,
in the first place, be made acquainted with the nature and reason of
this institution; in order to which you must understand that there
is a twofold kingdom of Jesus Christ.

For first, as he is the eternal Son of God, he is lord and sovereign
of all things. And in this large sense the whole world or universe
may be said to compose the kingdom of Christ. But secondly,
besides this large and general sense, the kingdom of Christ is also
taken in a more narrow sense, as it signifies his Church. The
Christian Church, I say, is in a peculiar sense his kingdom, being
a society of persons, not only subject to his power, but also con-
forming themselves to his will, living according to his precepts,
and thereby entitled to the promises of his gospel.

This peculiar kingdom or Church of Christ hath great and
peculiar privileges. While the rest of the world is estranged from
God and liable to the sentence of eternal death, the Church is
reconciled to God through Christ, is justified by faith in him,
redeemed by his sufferings, and sanctified by his Spirit ; no hunger
subject to death, sin, or the devil, but made children of God and
heirs of eternal life.

This happy state is called the state of grace, wherein those who
were by nature children of wrath are become objects of the divine
favour. The conditions of your admission into this state are faith
and repentance, and the outward sign and seal thereof is baptism.
Christ reconciles us to God and takes us under his protection ^
but then it is in virtue of a covenant, and a covenant requires
something to be done on both sides. If much is promised on the
part of God, somewhat is to be promised and performed on ours
also. If you hope for the divine blessings, you must not be

V^OL. IV. u u

658 Address on Conjirmation.

unmindful of the promises to the performance whereof those
blessings were annexed. And forasmuch as such promises were
made in your name by your godfathers and godmothers at a time
when you were unable to make them yourselves, or to understand
the force and meaning of them, it is fit that, now you are grown
up, you should take them upon yourselves. And though your
assent hath been often implied and declared by the repetitions
of creeds and catechisms, yet it is highly expedient for the more
full, open, and solemn declaration thereof that you do in the face
of the Church renew your baptismal vow, and manifest your entire
assent to all that which your sureties had before promised in your
name and on your behalf.

This declaration will most solemnly engage you to the per-
formance of three things : first, that you shall renounce the devil
and all his works, the pride of life, and the sinful lusts of the
flesh ; secondly, that you shall believe all the articles of the
Christian faith, which are summed up in the Apostles' Creed j
and in the third place, that you shall conform your lives to the
will and commandments of Almighty God.

All those things which your sureties have undertaken for you,
and which the faith you have hitherto professed doth already
oblige you to perform, doth the present public deliberate renewal
of your vow, at this time and place in your own proper persons,
after a more especial manner bind upon your consciences. And
that you may be the better enabled to discharge these obligations,
you must pray to God for the assistance of his grace and Holy
Spirit.

1 have thought it fit to insist on these particulars, not only for
the instruction of those who present themselves to be confirmed,
but also for the sake of all who hear me, to the end that all such
who having before received confirmation, might nevertheless not
have hitherto reflected duly thereon, being made sensible of the
great concern and importance of the engagements they have
entered into, may seriously think of fulfilling them for the future,
which God of his infinite mercy grant.

INDEX.

Abbott, Sight and Touch, 398 «.

Abstract ideas, 33.

Addison, 55, 59, 89, 224.

vEtna, 587 ; Borellus on, ib.

jEtna and Vesuvius, 589.

Alciphron, written in Rhode Island,
167 ; describes Rhode Islandscenery,
168; published, 195; argument less
abstract than in his earlier writings,
196; occasioned a polemical criti-
cism by Bishop Browne, 199 ; misses
the moral depth of Pascal, ib. ; com-
pared with Butler's Analogy, 200;
criticised, 202, cf. n. ; New Theory
of Vision appended to, 203 ; at-
tacked by Warburton, Hoadly, Lord
Hervey, in Uhlii Sylloge, 202 ; by
Bishop Browne, 222; third edition
of, 342.

Amberley, Lady, her description of
Whitehall, 166 n.

America, Berkeley's verses on, 103.

Analogy, what ? according to Bishop
Browne, 199; according to Bishop
Butler, 200.

Analyst, first hints of the, 210; an
argumentum ad hominem, 225 ;
mathematics defective, 226; com-
mended by the Bishop of London,
238 ; the controversy it occasioned,
239.

rmei^ov, ro, 366 «.

Arbitrariness in natural law, 467.

Arbuthnot, Dr., 55, 60, 88 «., '89, 208 ;
mentions Berkeley, 72; letter to,
from Berkeley, 78.

Archdall, Rev. Mervyn, 329, cf.ri.

Archetypal ideas, 375, 378, 382 n.

Archetypes, ideas of sense are, 461.

Archetypes of ideas of sense, 176.

U u

Archimedes, 451.

Architecture, Berkeley's skill in, i53«.

Ariano, 564.

Aristotle, his four causes, 366 «. ;
common sensibles, 396 n., 447 n.

Arnold, Jonathan, of Westhaven, 245.

Arpae, 537.

Ascoli, 563.

Ashe, Dr. St. George, ordains Ber-
keley, 47 ; died, 85 ; at Cloyne, 230.

Ashe, St. George, Berkeley's pupil, 56,

73, 85 «•
Association of ideas, 402, 403, 484.
Atterbury, Berkeley introduced to,

59, 89, cf. n.
Aufidus, river, 561.
Augustine, 74.

Augustus, mausoleum of, visited, 528.
Avellino, 567.

Bacon and Berkeley, 43, 407.
Baglini on the eflccts of the tarantula,

544 "•
Baldwin, Provost, 84, 100.
Bank, plan for a national, 248.
Barberini palace, visited, 523.
Bari, 544.
Barletta, 542.
Baronius, 500 n.
Barrow, Dr., 425, 437, 479, 487, 495,

497-
Barton, Richard, on fire philosophy,

295 n.
Bathurst, Lord, 106, 208, 250.
Baxter, Andrew, attacks Berkeley's

theory of matter, 222, cf. «.
Baylc, arguments against matter, 421.
Beardsley, Life of Dr. S. Johnson, 1 7 4 «.
Beattie, Dr. James, 153 n.; upon

Berkeley, 367 «.

66o

INDEX.

Belfast, 5.

Beneventum, 538.

Bennet, Bishop, describes Cloyne in
a letter to Dr. Parr, 231, cf. «.

Benson, Martin, Bishop of Gloucester,
meets Berkeley in Italy, 85 ; inti-
mate with Seeker, 90; prebendary
of Durham, 208 ; made Bishop of
Gloucester, 235 n., 280 w. ; his
death, 338; his character, 339 «. ;
ordained Whitefield, ib.

Berkeley, Bishop, birth and ancestry,

1, 2 ; brothers, 9; entered school,

2, 11; entered Trinity College, 2,
15 ; traditions about, 5 ; introduced
by Swift to Lord Berkeley, 6, cf. «.,
54; Commonplace Book, see Com-
monplace Book ; his early studies,
20, 36 ; college companions, 21 ; ex-
periments on hanging, 22; eccentric
at college, ib. ; made scholar, 2 3 ;
made fellow,;^.; memberof a college
society, ib. ; psychological theory of
physical points, 28 ; his dualism, 29 ;
resolves substance, cause, time, and
space into perception and being
perceived, 32; early practical aim
of his speculations, 34 ; first writings
mathematical, 35 ; tendency to what
is uncommon, 36 ; ordained deacon,
47 ; preaches in Trinity College
Chapel, 48 ; reported to be a Jacob-
ite, 49, 72; in ethics a theological
utilitarian, 49 ; his paper on alli-
ances in war, 50 n. ; sub-lecturer
in Trinity College, 51 ; junior
dean, ib. ; tutor in Trinity College,
52; his pupils, /^. ; books borrowed
from college library by, 52 «. ; his
emoluments in Trinity College, 53;
appears at the Court of Queen
Anne, 54 ; writes essays for Steele
in the Guardian, 57 ; becomes in-
timate with Pope, 59 ; introduced
to Atterbury, ib. ; has a discussion
with Dr. Clarke, ib. ; introduced to
Lord Peterborough, 63 ; accom-
panies him to Italy, 64 ; leave of
absence from Queen, 65 ; present
at a disputation in the Sorbonne,
66 ; proposes to visit INIalebranche,
67 ; crosses Mont Cenis, ib. ; ad-
venture at Leghorn, 70 ; returns to
London, 72; presented to Prince
and Princess of Wales, ib. ; travels
with Mr. St. George Ashe, 73 ; said
to have visited Cairo, 77 ; at Rome,

78; paper to Royal Society on
eruption of Mount Vesuvius, ib. ;
visited the Grotto del Cane, 84 ;
collected materials for a natural
history of Sicily, ib. ; made Senior
Fellow, ib. ; returns to London, 87 ;
studies social economy, ib. ; be-
comes chaplain of Lord Lieutenant,
91 ; made D.D., 94 ; nominated lec-
turer on Divinity, ib. ; nominated
Dean of Dromore, ib. ; nominated
Hebrew lecturer, 95 ; sources of
income in 1722, 95«. ; nominated
to the living of Ardtrea and Arboe,
1 00 ; Dean of Derry, ib. ; his Ame-
rican scheme, 103; introduced to
Sir R. Walpole, 107 ; obtains the
patent for his college, ib. ; plan for
the endowment of his college, ib. ;
troubled with the Vanhomrigh le-
gacy, no; rambles in England, 115;
his hopes of an endowment for his
college, 123; anxious to visit Dublin
privately, 141; his marriage, 150;
his wife's family, ib. ; departure for
America, 152; tries to persuade
Prior and Blackwell to accompany
him, 153 ; skill in architecture,
153;?.; arrival at Newport, in Rhode
Island, 154; visited the native In-
dians, 161 ; prefers Rhode Island
to Bermuda, 163 ; birth of first
child, ib.; farm of Whitehall, 164;
life in Rhode Island, 166 ; his
alcove, Rhode Island, 167 ; founded
a Philosophical Society in Newport,
169; correspondence with Bernon,
169 «.; disappointments about the
Bermuda scheme, 173; correspond-
ence with Dr. S. Johnson, 177,
179; his principles adopted and
defended by Jonathan Edwards,
182; a slave owner, 187; death of
his daughter Lucia, 188; sets sail
from Boston for England, 189 ;
arrives in London, 191 ; preaches
at the anniversary meeting of the
Society for the Propagation of the
Gospel, ib. ; founded scholarships
in Yale College, 192-3; donations
of books to Yale and Harvard
Colleges, 195 «. ; questions about
social condition of Ireland, 205 ;
nominated Dean of Down, 209 ;
nomination withdrawn, ib. ; nomi-
nated Bishop of Cloyne, ib. ; de-
sires rather deanery of Dromore,

INDEX.

661

212; ill of gout, 213, 216; writes
to Johnson about Alciphron, 222 ;
mathematical controversies, 225 ;
his space compared with Kant's,
226 «,, 488 «. ; consecrated Bishop
of Cloyne, ih. ; his studies at Cioync,
229; publishes the Querist anony-
mously, 242 ; proposes to admit
Roman Catholics to Trinity Col-
lege, 243 ; Discourse to Magistrates
and Men in Authority, 247 ; scheme
for a national bank, 248 ; attends
Parliament at Dublin, 252; speech
in House of Lords, 253 ; blasters,
ib. ; labours during the famine and
epidemic, 262 ; experiments upon
tar-water, 263, 292, 298, 300;
medical studies, 265 : upon Roman
Catholic theology, 269-80 ; hospi-
talities at Cloyne, 282 «. ; musical
parties at Cloyne, 284, 289; at-
tempts to revive office of rural
dean, 288 ; ill health, 290, 292 ;
offered bishopric of Clogher, 302 ;
the primacy, 303 ; fondness for fine
arts, 309; Oxford scheme, 311;
speculations in meteorology and
natural history, 311, 314, 316; spe-
culations about earthquakes, 318;
appeal to the Roman Catholic
clergy, 301, 320; education of his
children at Cloyne, 325 ; gave
medals to Trinity College for Greek
and Latin, 329, 330 «. ; removes to
Oxford, 334, 336; w'ishes to resign
his bishopric, 334 ; converts a child
into a giant, 335 ;/. ; life at Oxford,
337 ; publishes his Miscellany, 342 ;
David Hume, 343: his death, 344,
cf. n. ; his will, 345 ; buried in Christ
Church Chapel, ib. ; his epitaph,

347 ; his character, ib. ; pictures of,

348 «. ; his scholarship, 350 ; a dis-
cernible iniity in his life, 362 ; in-
augurated the second era in modern
philosophy, 362, 368, 369; his new
question, 364 ; how understood by
Hume, 366 ; how understood by
the Scotch psychologists, 367 n. ;
his use of idea, 369, cf. «. ; mere
sensation as impossible as matter,
371 ; explanation of physical sub-
stantiality and causality, 375 ; ap-
plication of his principles to physical
sciences, 376 ; confuses sensible
things and fancies of imagination,
379; his immediate perception com-

pared with that of Reid, Hamilton,
and Mansel, 383, 385, 386, cf. «.,
387, 390; his mediate perception,
392 ; his theory of visual language,
393-402 ; his ultimate universal
conceptions, 402 ; recognises ne-
cessary relations, 405 ; mind the
only possible power, 408 ; influence
on Hume and Kant, 409; sensible
universe a constant miracle, 409 n. ;
compared with Hume and Kant,
408-15 ; his speculation as a whole,
415, 416; Description of the Cave
of Dunmore, 503; Tour in Italy,
512, cf. «. ; his Sermons, 598 ; Visi-
tation Charge, 650 ; Address on
Confirmation, 657.

Berkeley, Mrs. Anne, her family, 150 ;
a Mystic, 151, 164.

Berkeley, Mrs. Eliza, authoress of pre-
face to INIonck Berkeley's poems,
359' cf. w.

Berkeley, Capt. George, 312, cf. «.

Berkeley, Rev. George, born, 208 ;
matriculated in Christ Church, 335;
writes to Bishop Seeker, 354 ; to
Dr. S. Johnson, ib.; vicar of Bray,
356; marries, 359; prebendary of
Canterbury, 360; D.D., ib.

Berkeley, George Monck, 360 ; pre-
face to his poems, 6, 8, 9 «., 109;;.,
150 n., 207 «., 255;/., 262 «., 280 /;.,
301 «., 3io«., 325 «., 350 «.

Berkeley, Henry, born, 163; referred
to, 354 ;/., 336.

Berkeley, John, born, 237, ct. /;.

Berkeley, Julia, born, 259, cf. ;;.

Berkeley, Lucia, buried in Rhode
Island, 188.

Berkeley, Sir Maurice, 7, cf. «.

Berkeley, Ralph, 3, 9, 325 «.

Berkeley, Richard, 151.

Berkeley, Dr. Robert, 9, 280, 281,
cf. ;/. ; his wife dies, 319, 335.

Berkeley, Rowland, 9, 325 ;;.

Berkeley, Sar.ih, born, 262.

Berkeley, Thomas, 9.

Berkeley, William, father of the
Bishop, I, 5; his parentage, 5-7;
his family, 8, cf. «., 9 ; his wife,
aunt to Gen. Wolfe, 8 ; chanjjes of
residence, 8, cf. «.

Berkeley, William (son), born, 247,
cf. 12. ; died, 3.' 5.

Berkeley, William(brother), 122, 538.

Berkeley, Rev. William, curate of
Midleton, 281 ;/., 282 w.

662

INDEX.

Berkeley, name, how spelt, 2 «.

Berkeley of Stratton, Lord, 6, 7, 54,
55, 61.

Berkeley papers, ix, 23, 50 «., 159 «.,
170 «., 235 «., 238 n., 244, 250 «.,
255 «., 256 «., 269, 286 «., 331 «.,
340 «., 353 «.

Berkeleys, untitled, in Ireland, 8.

Berkeleys of Dysert, 3, cf. «., 5, 7.

Berkeleys of Skark, 7.

Bermuda scheme, Berkeley's, de-
scribed in a letter from Swift to
Lord Carteret, 102 ; its origin in
Berkeley's mind, 103 ; his Pro-
posal, 104 ; reasons for choosing
Bermuda, ib. ; subscriptions for,
107 ; endowment sought out of the
pvirchase money of St. Christo-
pher's, 108, 125; charter procured,
108; Bishop of London Visitor of
the College, and Secretary for the
Colonies Chancellor, ib. ; charter
passes the seal, 112; allusions to,
in the correspondence of the ♦^ime,
1 1 8-1 19, 141 ; majority in the
House of Commons for, 125; King's
warrant for the grant, 138; retarded
by death of George L, 141 ; charter
renewed by George IL, 146 ; en-
dowment withheld, 170; Berkeley
begins to despair, 183 ; why opposed
by Walpole, 185.

Bermudas or Summer Islands, 105 ;
Shakespeare on the, ib. ; Waller
on the, 105 «.

Berrington, Simon, author of Gau-
dentio di Lucca, 252, cf. n.

Beseglia, 542.

Billy, Jean de, 500, cf. «.

Blackwell, Principal, of Aberdeen,
84«., 153; his pupils, 153 «.; upon
Berkeley, 153 «., 327 «.

Blampignon, Abbe, 74 n.

Blasters, Society of, 254, 255, 256.

Blind, the born blind cannot imagine
space as we do, 424.

Bodies exist in a twofold way, 489.

BoHngbroke, Lord, 65, 71, 208, 250 ;
letter to Swift, 118; on Alciphron,
202.

Bol1.on, Archbishop of Cashel, conse-
crates Berkeley, 228.

Bonaventura Cavalieri, 496, cf. n.

Borghese villa, visited, 515.

Borghese palace, visited, 520.

Bossuet, IT] n.

Bouillet,John,a French physician, 265.

Boyle, Earl of Burlington and Cork,
91.

Browne, Dr. Jemmet, 284,cf. «., 340.

Browne, Dr. John, 13 «.

Browne, Dr. Peter, Bishop of Cork
56, 234, cf. n. ; Provost of Trinity
College, 1 7 ; pamphlets against
drinking of healths, 18 ; argument
against Toland, 199; criticises Al-
ciphron, 199, 222, cf. tt. ; his theory
of analogy, 199 ; his body exhumed,
234 «.

Bruce, Rev. Jonathan, 259.

Brundisi, 547, 548, cf. n.

Burlington, Lord, 102, 104.

Burnaby, Rev. Andrew, describes
Whitehall, 165 n,

Burnet, Bishop, 522 «.

Burthogge, Dr. Richard, dimly antici-
pates Berkeley and Kant, 44.

Butler, Archer, on Berkeley and the
logic of physics, 407.

Butler, Dr. Joseph, Bishop of Durham,
109, 208; correspondence with Dr.
Samuel Clarke, 60; in London, 90;
analogy, 200, 236, cf. «. ; his death,
338, cf. n.

Calais, 66.

Calvin, John, Berkeley upon, 160.

Campbell, Principal George, 153 n.

Canusium, 540.

Capitol, visited, 521.

Carnot, 226.

Caroline, Queen, 208 ; fond of meta-
physics, 109; gets Berkeley nomi-
nated Dean of Down, 209 ; her
death, 256.

Carr, Dr. Charles, 228.

Carteret, Lord, 77 ; letter of Swift
to, 102, cf. «. ; patron of Francis
Hutcheson, 104 n.

Cartesian theory of colours, 489.

Cartesians, 421.

Castlemartyr, 230.

Castle Mary, 230.

Caulfield, Richard, 234 n.

Causality, its meaning, 365, 366 n. ;
physical, in variableness of succes-
sion, 375, 407.

Causality, objectivity based on, 491.

Causation, De Motu an essay on, 85.

Cause, its various meanings and con-
sequent ambiguity, 180, 465; distin-
guished from occasion, 430, 456.

INDEX.

66s

Cave of Cloyne, 232, cf. «.

Cave of Dunmore, 503, cf. «. ; called
Dearc-Fearna, 504 n.

Certainty, how reached, 453, 454.

Cestius, sepulchre of, visited, 515.

Chandler's Life of Dr. Samuel John-
son, 174 n.

Charge, Visitation, 650.

Chemical composition, 446.

Chesterfield, Earl of, 301, 307, cf. «.,
309.

Cheyne, Dr. George, 425.

Chubb, Thomas, 250.

Clarke, Dr. Samuel, 89, 109, 208 ;
receives a copy of the Principles,
45 ; criticism of Berkeley's prin-
ciples, 46 ; deification of space, 47 ;
meets Berkeley, 59 ; his discourses,
60 ; brought in contact with Butler,

Clarke and Collier, 63.

Clarke and Leibnitz, 109.

Clayton, Dr. Robert, Bishop of Cork,
148, cf. «., 149, 171,184,208,234;
Essay on Spirit, 324.

Cloyne, Berkeley nominated bishop of,
209 ; Berkeley consecrated bishop
of, 228; Berkeley's life at, 229;
village and diocese described, ii. ;
described by Bishop Bennet, 231,
cf. n. ; traditions of Berkeley at,
233.

Coghill, Dr., 217.

Coit, Dr., 168 «.

Colden, Cadwallader, 327 n.

Coleridge, 501.

College studies of Berkeley, 3 1 sqq.

College in Bermuda ; see Bermuda.

Collier, Arthur, Clavis Universalis, 62 ;
his coincidence with Berkeley, ii>. ;
his letter to Clarke, 63.

Collins, Anthony, Discourse on Free-
thinking, 58; ridiculed by Swift,
ib. ; attacks Archbishop King, ib.

Colour and resistance, 394.

Commonplace Book, Berkeley's,
throws light upon his early life, 10,
488, 502 ; college life reflected in,
27, 419 «; mathematical observa-
tions in, 28 ; first appearance of his
new principle, 29 ; extracts from,
30 sqq.; names of philosophers
mentioned in, 35 ; contains jottings
for the Essay on Vision and the
Principles of Human Knowledge,
44 ; quoted, 379, 387 n. ; described,
419 «•

Common sense, 455.

Conceivable things, classified, 484.

Confirmation, Address on, 657.

Connallan, Mr., 3 «.

Connor, Chancellorship of, desired by

Berkeley, 209.
Consciousness, continuity of, 389 «. ;

used as equivalent to external and

internal perception, 438 ; potential,

481.
Conterini, a college companion of

Berkeley, 22, cf. h.
Conybeare, Bishop, 338.
Cork, city of, 230.
Corner, ' Elder,' describes Berkeley at

Rhode Island, 164.
Cox, Rev. Marmaduke, 219, cf. n.
Cox, Sir Richard, 265.
Creed, INIr., of Cloyne, 233 «.
Crousaz, J. P. de 86.
Crowe, Bishop, 233.
Cumpean field, 588.
Custom, Hume's theory of, 369, 403,

408, 410.
Cutler, Dr. Timothy, 163, 185, 186.

D'Alcmbert, 226.

Dalton, Richard, 151, 153, 266, 280 n.

Daniel, Richard, made Dean of Down,

209 «.
Darwin, 377.
Deans, rural, 287, 288.
Death, Berkeley on, 181 ; of Berkeley,

344-

De Quincey on the death of Male-
branche, 73 «.

Des Cartes, 20, 45, 74, 178, 362, 565,
384, 458, 459, 460, 461, 510; his
cogito ergo sum, 454.

Desire, not will, 440, 441.

DeVrics, 467.

Dialogues between Hylas and Philo-
nous, a popular exposition of the
Principles, 61 ; dedicated to Lord
Berkeley of Stmtton, ib. ; made
converts, 62 ; mentioned in Acta
Eruditorum, ib.

Diocletian's baths, visited, 524.

Discourse to Magistrates and Men in
Authority, 247; its occasion, 253 ;
its efiects, 254, cf. «.

Distance, what it is to sec, 396; can
it be touched? 400; is the meaning
of certain visually given phenomena,
401 ; visible and tangible hetero-

664

INDEX.

geneous, 470; not immediately per-
ceived, 481.

Dorset, Earl of, 209.

Dromore, Berkeley's connection with
deanery of, 94.

Dualism, Berkeley's, 29.

Dublin in a.d. 1700, 15.

Dublin Journal, Faulkner's, 264.

Dunmore, Cave of, 503, cf. n.

Duration, 468.

Dysert Castle, birthplace of Berkeley,
3,5-

Edinburgh Metaphysical Society, dis-
cusses Berkeley's philosophy, 224.

Education, Jesuits and, 534.

Edwards, Jonathan, a pupil of John-
son, 182 ; defends the Berkeleian
principle, 182, cf. «. ; a slave owner,
187 n.\ distinction between fancies
and real things, 381 ; on our idea
of space, 405 n.

Error, in the will, 461.

Esquihne, Mount, visited, 526.

fTfpOf, TO, 366 «.

Euler, 226.

Euston, Lord, 284, cf. w.

Evans of Miltown, Colonel, 259.

Existence, ancient philosophers igno-
rant of what is, 31 ; is percipi or
percipere, velle or agere, 422;
what is its meaning, 429; no idea
of, 447.

Extension, visible, 395, 419 ; tangible,
395; resolvable into points, 421;
does not exist apart from sense
qualities, 422 ; visible, 423 ; coloured,
429 ; a mode of some sensible quality,
451 ; dependent on perception, 467,
cf. n. ; a sensation or phenomenon,
468 ; mathematical propositions
about, true in a double sense, 471 ;
is continuity of solid, 472; tangible,
the object of geometry, 474 ; con-
sists of homogeneal thoughts co-
existing without mixture, 478; a
distinct co-existence of minima.

490.

Faith, its function, 439, cf. n.
Falkland, Viscount, 279.
Fardelia, 472, cf. «.
Farnese palace, visited, 517.
Ferrier, Prof., seems to misconceive
a doctrine of Berkeley, 466 «.

Ficinus, Marcilius, 500, cf. «.

Fire philosophy in Siris, 295 ; in
Richard Barton, 295 n.

Fricento, 565.

Flaxley, Berkeley at, 115.

Fleury, Cardinal, 282, cf. n.

Foot, Dr., 509.

Forster, Dr. Nicholas, 150, 228; pre-
sents Berkeley for ordination, 47.

Forster, John, Berkeley's father-in-
law, 150.

Foulis, edition of Plato, 327 «.

France, condition of, in last years of
Lewis XIV., 68.

Freind, Dr. John, 60.

Freind, Dr. Robert, 60, 82 n.

Garth, Dr., 224.

Gaudentio di Lucca, The Adventures
of, ascribed to Berkeley, 251 ; edi-
tions of, 251 «. ; real authorship,
252, cf. n.

Gay, the poet, 60, 88 n. ; writes about
Berkeley, 202 ; his death, 208.

Genera and species not abstract ideas,
436.

General ideas, no abstract. 420.

Gentleman's IMagazine, denies that
Berkeley was chaplain to Duke of
Grafton, 92 ; on Berkeley in Rhode
Island, 166 «.

Gervais, Dean, 21, 259, cf. «., 261,
281 ; see Letters.

Giannoni's History of Naples, 271,
cf. n.

Gibbon, Edmund, 340, cf. «.

Gibson, Bishop of London, 186, cf. «.,
208, 235 «., 236 «. ; favours the
Bermuda scheme, 1 1 1 ; thanks Ber-
keley for the Analyst, 238; jee
Letters.

Gilman, Mr., of Yale College, 176.

Giovanessa, 542.

Grafton, Duke of, 100.

Graves, Rev. James, 503 «.

Gravina, 559.

Grey, Dr. Zachary, 163.

Gualtieri, Cardinal, 514.

Guardian, essays of Berkeley in the,
57-

Guilt, defined, 181.

Hall, Dr. John, Vice-Provost of
Trinity College, 18.

INDEX.

665

Halley, Dr., 223, 224.

Hamilton, John, Dean of Droniore,

10 1 n.
Hamilton, Sir W., 404 «., 409 n. ; on

immediate perception, 383 ; on

sensation and perception, 396 n. ;

law of conditioned, 493 n.
Hardwicke, Lord Chancellor, 251.
Harley, Earl of Oxford, 119.
Hartley, 343.
Harvard College, donation of books

from Berkeley, 195 «.
Hazard, Rowland G., 158 n.
Hegel, 413, 414; doctrine of space,

368 n.
Helsham, Dr., 219.
Hervey, Lord, 202.
Hinton, Dr., i, 2, i 3.
Historical Register, account of Ber-
keley's departure for America, 152.
Hoadly, Bishop, 109, 202, 208, 212.
Hobart, Rev. Noah, 162.
Hobbes, Thomas, of Malmesbury,

363, 459. 460, 462, 463.
Hodges, Dr., Provost of Oriel, 341,

cf. n.
Hodgson, Shadworth H., on space,

488 n.
Honeyman, Rev. James, of Newport,

155, 159-

Home, Bishop, 338, cf. n. ; 360.

Hume, his physical causality anti-
cipated by Berkeley, 43, 425 «. ;
referred to, 45, 362, 367, 368, 378,
408, 410, cf. «., 412; his writings,
343 ; thought Berkeley's method
sceptical, 366, cf. n.

Hutcheson, Archibald, 138, cf. n.

Hutcheson, Francis, 104 n.

Huxley, 377.

Huygenius, 505.

Idea, defined, 421 «., 422, 445, cf. n. ;
gives intuitive not symbolical know-
ledge, 485 «., 486.

Idea, of sense, constituents of real
things, 32; abstract, 33; their ar-
chetypes, 176; how used in Siris,
296 ; no general, 420 ; of sense how
archetypes, 461.

Idea, and sensation, 498.

Identity, doctrine of, 448.

Identity, exists only in persons, 480.

Imokilly, barony of, described, 230,
246.

Inductive methods, 574 «., 407.

Infinitesimals, 421.

Inistiogue Records, 3 «., 7.

Instinct, Berkeley on, 406 «.

Intellect, pure, unintelligible, 460.

Ireland, social condition of, engages
the attention of Berkeley, 205, 242 ;
famine and epidemic in 1732, 261,
266.

Ischia, 575; government, 576-577;
clergy, 578 ; customs, 579-582 ; har-
bour, 583 ; baths, 585-587.

Italy, Journal of aTour in, 82; Journal
described, 5 1 2 «.

J-

James, Sir John, 151, 153, 246, 266;
his intention of joining the Roman
Catholic communion, 269; Berkeley
dissuades him, ib. ; dies, 280, cf. n.

Jekyll, Sir Joseph, 171 n.

Jerome of Prague, 275.

Jewell's Defence of the Reformation,
275.

Johnson, Bishop, 233.

Johnson, Dr. Samuel (of England),
his criticism of Berkeley, 368 n.

Johnson, Dr. Samuel, of Stratford,
says that the scenes in Alciphron
are copied from Rhode Island, 167;
visits Berkeley in Rhode Island,
174 ; visited England, and saw
Pope, ib.\ adopted Berkeley's phi-
losophy, ih. ; Dr. Chandler's Life
of, 174 n.\ his F-lementa Philoso-
phica, 175 n.\ letter of Berkeley
to, on archetypes, space, and the
passivity of the soul, 177; letter of
Berkeley to, on change, cause, and
the first mover, 179 ; Jonathan
Edwards a pupil of, 182 ; made
D.D. of Oxford, 321 n.\ President
of King's College, New York, 322
«. ; his sons, 323, cf. n. ; correspond-
ence with Berkeley, 327; corre-
spondence with Lieut. -(iov. Colden
about Berkeley's philosophy, 327
n. ; published his Elementa Philo-
sophica, 543, 355; see Letters.

Jones, Sir W., on Hindoo Philosophy,

375 "•
Jurin, Dr., 239.

Kant, Immanuel, referred to, 17A /;. ;
343, 408 w., 409; his regulative

666

INDEX,

ideas, 177 «. ; on Berkeley, 368;

doctrine of space, 368 «., 402 w. ;

antinomies, 493 n.
Kant and Hume, 412.
Keill, Dr. John, 493, cf. «., 494, 497,

cf. n.
Kennet, Basil, chaplain at Leghorn,

69, 276.
Kilcrin, reputed birth-place of Ber-
keley, I, 3, 4, cf. «.
Kilkenny, 14, 506.
Kilkenny School, i, 2, 11, cf. «., 12,

229.
King, Archbishop, endowed a Divinity

Lecture in Trinity College, 17; a

theologian, 21, loi.
King, Lord, 1 1 1 n.
Knowledge, 454.

Lagrange, 226.

Language, all visible phenomena an

interpretable, 33; abuses of, 435.
Lecce, Corpus Christi day, 549 ; li-
braries and churches, 550-551.
Leghorn, Sermons preached at, 605.
Leibnitz, 363 ; on distinction between
dream life and waking life, 380 ;
differential calculus, 495.
Leslie, Dr. Charles, 209, cf. n.
Letters : —

Benson, Bishop, to Berkeley, on the
probability that the Bermuda en-
dowment will be withheld, 170;
about a House of Lords case
with regard to tithes, 237 ; on
deaths of Lord Chancellor and
Primate, 250; on Queen Caro-
line's death, &c., 256; on rural
deans, 287 ; on prevailing cor-
ruption of morals, 332.
Berkeley to Rev. Mervyn Arch-
dall, 329.

— to Benson, on death of his son
William Berkeley, 325.

— to IMr. Clap, President of Yale
College, 324, 327.

— to Mr. Dalton, on his marriage,
266.

— to Colonel Thomas Evans, 259.

— to Dean Gervais, 260 ; advises
him to drink tar- water, 281 ; on
musical parties at Cloyne, 284,
288; congratulatory, on deanery
of Tuam, 289 ; on politics, 290,
304, 311 ; on the gout, 303, 333.

Berkeley to Sir Thomas Hanmer,
on tar- water, 298.

— to Sir John James, describing
Cloyne, 246; on Mr. Dalton's
marriage, 268 ; dissuading him
from joining the Roman Catholic
communion, 269.

— to Dr. S. Johnson, on arche-
types of our ideas, space, and the
passivity of the soul, 177 ; on
change, cause, and the first mover,
179 ; announcing departure from
America, 188; about books for
Yale College, 221 ; about attacks
on by Bishop Browne and Andrew
Baxter, 222; about intercourse
with dissenters, 241 ; about Ame-
rican missions and Yale College,
245 ; speaking of ill-health, 258 ;
about Colleges of Yale and New
York, 321, 326.

— to Robert Nelson, describing
his life as chaplain to the Lord-
Lieutenant, 93.

— to Pope, complimenting him on
the Rape of the Lock, 70 ; on
his translation of the Iliad, 72 ;
describing neighbourhood of
Naples, 82 ; on interview with
Abbe Salvini, 84.

— to Thomas Prior, account of
journey to Paris, 66 ; account of
journey across Mont Cenis, 67 ;
account of condition of France,
69 ; about the Bemiuda scheme,
no, III, 112, 113-118, 123, 125,
127, 138, 142, 145, 146, 163, 183;
about troubles arising from the
Vanhomrigh legacy, no, in, 112,
113-118, 120, 121, 126, 129, 130,
131, 133, 135, 136, 142, 144, 162,
172, 204, 206, 209 ; about the
business of the deanery of Derry,
124, 125, 128, 129, 130, 133, 135,
148, 172, 204, 206; denies re-
port of his marriage, 134 ; about
securing a house in Dublin where
he can have strict privacy, 143,
144, 148, 149; about death of
George L, 145 ; announcing his
marriage, and his companions to
America, 151; describing New-
port, 160; prefers Rhode Island
to Bermuda, 163 ; picture of life
in Rhode Island, 173; proposes
to settle in Ireland, 204, 210, 21 1 ;
about making dissenters justices

INDEX.

667

of the peace in Ireland, 204;
about a list of Papists and Pro-
testants in Ireland, 205, 206, 207 ;
desire to get Chancellorship of
Connor, 209 ; first hint of Ana-
lyst, 210; about bishopric of
Cloyne, 211, 212, 213, 214, 216,
219, 220, 227 ; about the Querist,
247, 307; describes industry at
Cloyne, 248, 308 ; describes use
of rosin in epidemics, 263, 264;
experiments on tar- water, 263,
298, 300; upon distress in Ire-
land, 265, 266; on politics, 285;
on soldiers' clothing, 306 ; Earl
of Chesterfield, 307 ; specula-
tions in meteorology, 311, 314;
about the primacy, 310, 312. 313,
315 ; speculations in natural his-
tory, 316; describing thunder-
storm at Cloyne, 320, cf.w.; about
an edition of Plato by Foulis of
Glasgow, 327.

Berkeley to Smibert describing
Cloyne, 240.

— to Wolfe, 267.

Berkeley, George (the son), to
Archbishop Seeker, 354.

Browne, Bishop Jemmet, to Ber-
keley, 340.

Forster, Bishop, to Berkeley, on
Berkeley's speech in Parliament,

255-
Gibson, Bishop, to Berkeley, thank-
ing him for the Analyst, 238 ;
upon attempt to repeal the cor-
poration and test oaths, 244.
Grey, Dr., to Dr.T. Cutler, describ-
ingBerkeley at Rhode Island, 163.
Mornington, Lord, to Mrs. Ber-
keley, 353 «.
Pope to Berkeley, 89.
Seeker, Archbishop, to Berkeley,
235; to Mrs. Berkeley on her
husband's death, 352.
Swift to Lord Carteret, describing
the Bermuda scheme, 102,
Lewis, Sir G. Cornewall, 252 «.
Locke, his Essay introduced into
Trinity College, 20 ; his influence
on Berkeley, 34 ; treatises on go-
vernment, 48 ; on abstract ideas,
177 ; does not rightly distinguish
will from desire, 440 : his maxim,
457; referred to, 45, 363, 384, 406,
429, 432, 433, 434, 436, 437, 444,
446, 449, 450, 451, 452 «,, 454,

457, 458, 460, 461, 462, 465, 472,
473) 475, 479j 480, 487, 491, 494,
498.

Locke and Malebranche, 74.

Xoyw., the, or inward light, 274 n.

Loyola, 521.

Lyons, 67.

Maclaurin, Colin, engaged in the

Analyst controversy, 240.
McSparran, Rev. Dr., 161, cf. «., 162.
Madden, Dr. Samuel, 21, 150, cf. «. ;

edits the Querist, 242 ; founds the

Dublin Society, 243, cf. n.
Magnitude, 476.
Magrath, the Irish giant, 335 n.
Malebranche, Berkeley proposes to

visit, 67; story of death of, 73;

referred to, 30, 176 »?., 324 «., 363,

384, 421, 435, 459, 461, 467, 484,

486, 488, 490.
Malebranche and Berkeley, 74.
Mansel, Dean, 383.
Markham, Archbishop, 338, cf. n.
Martin, Dr., 2 n.
Martin, Murdoch, explored Western

Islands, 66, cf. «., 506.
Masham, Lady, 55.
Massy, M., 86.

Mathematical necessity, 397 n.
Mathematical studies of Berkeley, 36,

210.
Mathematicians, Berkeley's attack

upon the, 224 ; an argumentum ad

hominem, 225.
Matter, unperceivable and unperceiv-

ing, 364, 365-

Maury, M. Alfred, 86.

Mead, Dr., 82 n.

Midleton, 230.

Mill, Mr. J. S., 388 n.

Mind, bodies exist independently of
our, 428; a congeries of percep-
tions, 438; always thinks, 444;
neither volition nor idea, 464.

Minima visibilia and tangibilia, 395.

Minimum visibile, 471, 483.

Miscellany, Berkeley's, 342, cf. «.

Mola, 546.

Molyneux, Samuel, 56 ; Berkeley's
pupil, 52 ; presents Berkeley to the
Princess of Wales, 72.

Molyneux, William, 19, 416 «., 469.

Monastic life, 276.

Monte Sarki, 537.

668

INDEX.

Moon, problem of the horizontal, 476,
492.

Morality, two great principles of, 430.

Morality, demonstration in, 449.

More, Dr., 491.

Morgan, Thomas, M.D., 265 n.

Motion, not distinct from the thing
movable, 424; visible and tangible,
469.

Motu, De, an essay on Power and
Causation, 85; an application of
the Principle to sensible changes
and causation, ib. ; prepared at
Lyons, 86 ; may have been pre-
sented to the Royal Academy of
Paris, ib.

Mountnay, Baron, 304, cf. n.

Naples, Berkeley at, 81, 82, 84, 535 n. ;
Rome to, 568; its customs, 571-

574-

Narragansett, 155, 159, 161, 162; Ser-
mons preached in, 629.

Natura naturans, is God, 180.

Necessity, mathematical, 397 n.

Nelson, Robert, Berkeley addresses a
letter to, 93, cf. n.

Newhaven College, 179.

Newport, Berkeley lands at, 154 ; de-
scribed, 155; religious equality in,
157 ; Berkeley's house at, 165 ;
scenery described in Alciphron,
168; philosophical society of, 169;
sermons preached at, 629.

Newton, Sir Isaac, referred to, 20,
226, 420, 441, 469, 497, 498; doc-
trine of space, 177 ; method in
natural philosophy, 179; theory of
aether, 295 n.

Noetica, by Dr. S. Johnson, 175 «.

Nore, river, 4.

Norris, John, the Malebranchian, 20.

Norris, Sir John, 291.

Number, 476.

Objectivity, what, 395 ; based on

causality, 491.
Oglethorpe, General, 67, cf. «., 186 n.
Oxford, the scene of an ideal life, 277 «.
Oxford Commemoration, 207.
Oxford scheme, Berkeley's, 311, 334.

Palliser, William, 21.

Paradise Lost, translation by the Abbe
Salvini, 71 «.

Paris, Abbe, 275.

Parnell, the poet, 56, 60.

Parr, Dr., 231.

Particulars, knowledge is not of,
merely, 446.

Pascal, his Deus absconditus, 199, 416.

Pasquilino, retained to teach Ber-
keley's children music, 310 n.

Passive Obedience, Discourse on, pub-
lished, 48 ; occasioned by Locke's
treatises on government, ib. ; advo-
cates high Tory principles, ib. ; con-
tains Berkeley's moral philosophy,
49 ; gave rise to the report that
Berkeley was a Jacobite, ib. ; hin-
ders his advancement, 50.

Pembroke, Earl of, 91, cf. n.

Perception, 596 ; Berkeley's imme-
diate, of extended sensible reality,
383 ; immediate, is adequate, 483.

Perception and volition, 444.

Person, not an idea, 432.

Personality, 371-373.

Persons only exist, 469.

Peterborough, Lord, Berkeley intro-
duced to, 63; appointed ambassa-
dor to the King of Sicily, 64 ; makes
Berkeley his chaplain and secretary,
ib. ; commemorated by Pope, 64 «. ;
referred to by Berkeley, 69 ; re-
called, 71.

Petitio principii, in the common theory
of matter, 370.

Phenomena, how used in Siris, 296.

Platner, observations on the born
blind, 404.

Plato, 176 «., 366 «,, 376; proposed
edition of, by Foulis of Glasgow,
327 n.

Pliny, on earthquakes, 319.

Plotinus, 276, cf. «.

Pococke, Bishop, 288 n.

Pomfret, Earl of, 141.

Pooley, Bishop, 230.

Pope, 55 ; a friend of Berkeley, 59,
89 ; on Lords Bathurst and Bur-
lington, 9 1 ; on the Bermuda scheme,
119 ; publishes Essay on Man, 208 ;
mentioned in a letter from Seeker
to Berkeley, 236 ; his enthusiam for
Berkeley, 349 n.

Positivism, 362, 368, 411.

INDEX

669

Power, De Motu an essay on, 85.

Power and volition, 450

Practical aim, early, of Berkeley's
speculations, 34.

Principle, Berkeley's new, 29, 30, 31.

Principles of Human Knowledge,
Treatise concerning the, an assault
on scholastic abstractions, 40 ; de-
velopes the theory latent in the
Essay on Vision, ib. ; only first part
published, 42 ; anticipates the Go-
pernican point of view of Kant,
43-44 ; theory of physical causality,
43 ; a challenge to the philosophical
world, 45 ; copies sent to Clarke
and Whiston, ib.

Prior, IMatthew, 67, cf. «., 89.

Prior, Thomas, at school with Ber-
keley, II ; founder of Dublin
Society, 1 1 «., 242 ; college com-
panion of Berkeley, 2 1 ; helps Ber-
keley in business dilliculties, 109 ;
his List of Absentees, 1S3 w. ; in
Dublin when Berkeley was conse-
crated Bishop of Cloyne, 228; ex-
periments with tar-water, 293 ; his
Authentic Narrative of thesuccessof
tar-water, 309 ; death, 329; monu-
ment to, 330, 331 «. ; epitaph by
Berkeley, 331 «. ; bust of, ib.

Protagoras, 376.

Qualities of matter, primary, 434.
Qj_ierist, 242; edited by Dr. Madden,

ib.-, Mackintosh on the, 243 «. ;

third part published, 247 ; advises a

national bank, 249.

Rabbe, the Abbe, 86.

Ramsay, the Chevalier, 324 w.

Rankenian Club, 224 n.

Raphson, Ralph, 177, 462, cf. ;/., 491.

Rawdon, Sir John, 67, 265.

Real things and chimeras, 427, 449.

Reality, its meaning, 365, 492.

Reid, Dr. Thomas, 343, cf. «., 388;
immediate perception, 383 ; his
relation to Berkeley, 385, cf. n.

Resistance and colour, 394.

Rhode Island, Berkeley meant to go
to, on his way to Bernuida, 155 ;
its society, 158; Berkeley wishes
to found his college at, 163 ; pic-

tures of its scenery in Alciphron,

16S.
Roman Catholic clergy and Berkeley,

321.
Roman Catholic theology, Berkeley's

views upon, 269 sqq.
Roman Catholics of Cloyne, Letter to

the, 301.
Roman College, visited, 534.
Roman literature, modern, 518.
Rome, its environs visited, ,-,30 sqq. ;

the theatre visited, 535.
Rome to Naples, 568.
Rose, Archdeacon, memoir of Dr.

George Berkeley, Prebendary of

Canterbury, 356 ; on Berkeley's

sermons, 595.
Rosin, used in epidemics, 263; adver-
tised in Faulkner's Dublin Journal,

264.
Rostellan, 230.
Rugge, Henry, 214.
Ruin of Great Britain, Essay towards

preventing the, 88.
Rundle, Bishop of Derry, 235 n.

Salaries in Trinity College, 53 n.

Salvini, Abbe, translates Milton's
Paradise Lost, 7 1 .

Scaliger, 498.

Scepticism, refuted by Berkeley's
principle, 31.

Scott, Sir Walter, on the correspond-
ence between Swift and Mrs. Van-
homrigh, 99.

Scriblerus Club, 57.

Scriblerus Club and the Bermuda
scheme, 106.

Seeker, Archbishop of Canterbury,
friendship for Berkeley, 90 ; college
friend of Bishop Butler, ib. ; at
Durham, 171 ; made Y).Y)., 207 «, ;
rector of St. James's, Westminster,
208 ; Bishop of Bristol, 235 ; made
Bishop of Oxford, 250, cf. w. ; at
Cuddesden when Berkeley at Oxford,
538-339; hissistermarriod to Bishop
Benson, 339 ;/. ; sympathy with Ber-
keley's family, 352; translatcil to
Lambeth, 552 n.

See, what it is to, 399.

Sensations, what are, 370, 571 ; mere,
impossible, 37 i ; actual, intermittent,
373 ; dilVerent from sensible things,
ib.\ signs of other sensations, 374 ;

670

INDEX.

substantiality in material world is
co-existence of, 375.

Sensations, invariableness of, devejopes
space, 407.

Sensations and ideas, 498.

Sense ideas, are real things, 32.

Sense-realism of Berkeley, 386.

Senses, not to be despised, 434.

Sensibles, common, 396 n.

Sergeant, John, 463, cf. n.

Sermons, preached in Trinity College
Chapel, 598 ; preached at Leghorn,
605 ; skeletons of, preached at
Newport and in the Narragansett
country, 629.

Shakespeare, quoted, 105.

Sherlock, Dr., Bishop of Bangor, 89,
109; shows Alciphron to Queen
Caroline, 208.

Sibbald, Sir Robert, 506, cf. n.

Sicily, Berkeley in, 84.

Simon, James, 309, cf. n., 315.

Simon, T. Collyns, 409 n.

Siris, 293; popularity, 294; to be
compared with earlier works, ib. ;
Berkeley's philosophy developed in,
296; w^as Berkeley's last word in
speculation, 297 ; French transla-
tion of, 330.

Skelton, Rev. Philip, criticises Alci-
phron, 199 n.

Smalridge, Bishop, 62, 102.

Smibert, Mr., the artist, 132, cf. n.,
142; accompanies Berkeley to
America, 151, 153; settled in
America, 189, cf. «. ; his portrait of
Berkeley in Yale College, 189.

Smith, Adam, 340, cf. «.

Space, 177 ; derived from universalized
sense impressions, 401 ; developed
from invariableness of sensations,
407 ; material, what, 422 ; imagined
by the born blind, 424 ; eternity
and infinity of, 449 ; Kant's doctrine
of, 488 «.; Hodgson's doctrine oi,ib.

Speech, is metaphorical, 479.

Spenser, quoted, 4.

Spinoza, 324 «., 363, 462, 464.

Society, a college, founded by Berke-
ley, 23.

Society of Edinburgh, Royal, 224 «.

Society in Edinburgh, a metaphysical,
discusses Berkeley's principles, 224.

Solidity, 472, 475.

Sommers, Sir George, 105.

Soul, is passive as well as active, 177 ;
complex, 477.

South Sea scheme, made Berkeley
turn his attention to social economy,
87 ; effects of on the morality of the
people, ib. ; undertook the respon-
sibility of the national debt, 87 ;
referred to, 242.

St. Canice, cathedral of, 506 n.

St. Colman, cathedral of, 230.

St. Peter's, visited, 519, 525.

Stearne, Dr. John, 329, cf. «.

Steele, Sir Richard, edits the Guar-
dian, 57, 208.

Stevenson, Prof., of Edinburgh, 224.

Stewart, Dugald, on Baxter, 222 ; on
the early influence of Berkeley in
Scotland, 224.

Stillingfleet, Bishop, 431 «., 449, 450.

Stirling, Dr. Hutchison, 388 «., 408 «.

Stock, Bishop, Berkeley's biographer,
4, M "; 59> 72 «., 99, cf- "; 150, 208,
224, 228, 262 «., 337 «., 338, 344 n.,
347 n.

Stopford, Bishop, at Cloyne, 252 «.

Substance, not removed by Berkeley's
principles, 31, 431; physical, what
is.' 431 «.; Locke on, 440, cf. w. ;
discussed, 450.

Substantiality in material world, co-
existence of sensations, or pheno-
mena, 375.

Succession, 468, 471.

Swift, introduces Berkeley to Lord
Berkeley of Stratton, 6, 54 ; at
Kilkenny school, i3,cf.«.; at Trinity
College, 1 7 ; introduces Berkeley
at Queen Anne's court, 54 ; made
Dean of St. Patrick's, 55 ; extracts
from diary to Stella, ib. ; introduces
Berkeley to Lord Peterborough,
63; writes to Lord Carteret about
Berkeley, 77 ; verses on South
Sea scheme, 88«. ; friend of Lord
Pembroke, 91 ; writes to Gay
about Berkeley, 95; his connection
with Mrs. Vanhomrigh, 96 ; writes
to Lord Carteret about Berkeley's
Bermuda scheme, 102 ; letter from
Bolingbroke, 118; Gulliver's Tra-
vels, 119; revisits England, ib.;
letter from Gay to, 202 ; quits Eng-
land for ever, 208 ; at St. Patrick's
when Berkeley consecrated, 229;
his patriotism, 243; intercourse
with Berkeley at Cloyne, 243 «. ;
death, 304 n. ; on Berkeley's theory
of matter, 368 «.

Sydenham, Dr., 303.

INDEX

67,

Synge, Dr. Edward, Bishop of Cloyne,
&c., 21, 146, 147, 209, 212, 214,
215, 219, 220, 227.

Talbot, Charles, Lord Chancellor,

138, cf. «., 217, cf. «., 250, cf. n.
Talbot, Miss, 359, cf. n.
Tarantula spider and dance, 82, 5 1 3 k.,

541, 544, 545, 552-553, 555, 556,
560.
Tar-water, used in the epidemic of
1739, 262; Berkeley had seen it
used in America, ib. ; experiments
with, 263, 293; Dean Gervais
advised to drink, 282 ; Berkeley
thinks it a panacea, 292 ; interest
it excited, 294, cf. «., 309, cf. «. ;
verses on drinking, 297, 299 ;
Prior's tract upon, 309, 322 ; Berke-
ley's correspondence about, 323.
Tarentum, 554, 555, cf. «. ; environs

visited, 556-558.
Terracina to Rome, 592.
Thing, meaning of the term, 449.
Tighe, Mr., History of Kilkenny, 3, 4.
Time, a succession of ideas consti-
tute, 177; measured by flow of
ideas, 439 ; referred to, 468.
Toland, criticised by Bishop Browne,

199.
Townshend, Lord, 108.
Trani, 542.

Tribunal of the Eletti, 573.
Trinity College, i, 2, 16; salaries in,
5 3 «. ; Archbishop King's Lecture-
ship, 94 «. ; Hebrew Lectureship, 95
n. ; three junior fellows of, induced
to accompany Berkeley to America,
104; Berkeley proposes to throw
it open to Roman Catholics, 243 ;
Berkeley gave medals for Greek
and Latin to, 329, 330 n.
Trinity College Chapel, sermon

preached in, 598.
Truth, three kinds of, 446.
Tuam, wardenship of, 214.
Turin, 67.

Ueberweg, charges Berkeley with a

petitio principii, 370 «.
Uhlius, Sylloge, 202 n.
v\t], 366 n.

Unity not a simple idea, 435, 472.
Updike, Colonel, an intimate friend

of Berkeley, 1 59 w. ; member of the
Philosophical Society of Newport,
169.

Updike, Ludovick, heard Berkeley
preach, 159.

Updike, Wilkins, his History of the
Episcopal Church in Narragansett,
154 ; description of Berkeley's
arrival at Newport, id. ; account of
Berkeley in Trinity Church, 159;
account of Rhode Island society,
ib. «. ; Berkeley's farm, 164 «. ;
on Berkeley's verses on America,
168 «., 245 «.

Ursini, Cardinal, his library, 538.

Utilitarianism, theological, Berkeley's,
49.

Vanhomrigh, Mrs., 57 ; Berkeley and
Swift dine with, 60, 96 ; died in
1723, 96; her connection with
Swift, 96, 97 «. ; bequeathed her
property to Bishop Berkeley and
Dr. Marshall, 97 ; her will, ib. ; her
correspondence with Swift, 99 ;
her legacy occasion of business
troubles to Berkeley, no, in, 112,
113— 118, 119, 120, 121, 126, 129,
130-131, 133, 135, 136, 141.

Vatican, Berkeley examines the MSS.
in the, 78.

Vatican gallery, visited, 512.

Venosa, 561.

Verses on America, Berkeley's, 103.

Verses on drinking tar- water, 297,
299.

Vesuvius, eruptions of, described, 78,
588.

Vesuvius and iEtna, 589.

Vindication of Theory of Vision, 203,

Vision, Essay towards a New Theory
of, 36 ; applies the Berkeleian prin-
ciple to sight, not to touch, 37 ; has
been misinterpreted, ib. ; its chief
qusetion, ib. ; its theory of the uni-
versal and divine language of the
senses, 38 ; second edition in year
of publication, 40.

Visitation Charge, 650.

Visual language, 393.

Volition, comes gradually into the
mind, 442.

Volition and perception, 444.

Volition and power, 450.

Voltaire, on Berkeley, 368 «.

Vulgar, Berkeley on the side of, 420.

6/2

IN DE X.

Wainwright, Baron, 210, 214, 215,
218, 228, 237.

Wallace, Rev. Dr., 224.

Waller, Battle of the Summer Islands,
105 n.

Wallis, Dr., 428, 463.

Walpole, Sir Robert, promises an
endowinent for the Bermuda Col-
lege, 108 ; occasions failure of the
Bermuda scheme, 186; referred to,
1 19» 139) 284, cf. «.

Walton, engaged in the Analyst con-
troversy, 240.

Warburton, Dr., 202 ; on Baxter, 222.

Ward, Rev. Dr., of Derry, 123, 129,
134.

Warton, quoted, 106.

Wetherby, Dr., 210.

W^histon, on Berkeley, 45.

Whitcombe, Archbishop, 341, cf. ti.

Whitehall, Berkeley's farm and house,
164, 165, cf. «., 166.

Wilkes, John, 327 n.

Will, is it acted on by uneasiness, 421;
the soul is, 428 ; is not desire, 440,
441 ; is power, 442 ; no idea of, 445 ;
is puiTis actus, 462.

Wise, Dr. Thomas, 283 «.

Wolfe, Mr., 266.

Wolfe, General, 336, 337 «. ; on Ber-
keley's death, 337 «.

Woodward, Dr., on stalactites, 511,
cf. n.

Worcester, Bishop of, 440 n.

Word to the Wise, A, 320.

Yale College, Johnson graduated at,
174; possesses portrait of Berkeley
by Smibert, 189; scholarships in,
founded by Berkeley, 192, 194 «. ;
deed of conveyance, 193 «. ; dona-
tion of books to, 194, cf. n., 207,
221; referred to, 163, 176, 192, 245,
323, 324, cf. «., 326, 327, cf. «.

This book is DUE on the last date stamped below

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Full text of "The works of George Berkeley; including many of his writings hitherto unpublished. With prefaces, annotations, his life and letters, and an account of his philosophy"

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